APH PruCan Timeless
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: This was first published on Deviant Art so some of you may already recognize it. This is a series of events that have happened between Prussia and Canada throughout the centuries. Some good, some bad, some strange. Some of the stories are funny, some of them bittersweet, and some are horrific due to Russia's presence. Read at your own risk. Smut in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

APH PruCan Timeless 1

If you're lost you can look - and you will find me  
Time after time  
If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting  
Time after time  
-Cyndi Lauper 'Time After Time'

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Once upon a time a soiree held at the Palace of Versailles in the late 1500's  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the personification of Prussia, decided that he hated parties. The uniformed nation sighed heavily, correcting himself as he looked out across the glittering ballroom filled to its gold leafed stucco brim with the crème de la crème of society. A big to do about nothing where the rich and powerful flaunted themselves to each other on a gilded field of battle dressed in velvet, lace, satin, and glittering stone instead of armor. They danced in carefully rehearsed steps on the killing floor armed with only sharp words and clever innuendos as their weapons.

Grimacing at his dismally full flute of champagne, Gilbert found himself preferring the brutal honesty of stained chain mail and the intimate edge of a sword. Give him a blood soaked battle field with the wind carrying the sounds of the defeated and dying to him over an overly decorated ballroom filled with tittering twits any day.

Drinking bitterly from his forced cup, Gilbert found that he could at least savor the adrenalin rush that surged through him at the very thought of unadulterated violence. This was neither the time or the place for it though. Open blood sport would only put these soft examples of humanity and the other immortals in the room on edge. If he ruined Francis's party(especially this early in the evening), his friend and fellow nation of France would not be pleased. As punishment, Francis would make it a point not to invite Gilbert to the parties he actually did enjoy, the ones where real booze was served(not this bubbly crap) and where there were duels, fights, and races with bulls and other things that fought back for entertainment. As England could personally(seriously, why was Lord Eyebrows here?) confirm though, the Frenchman could definitely hold a grudge and Gilbert wasn't about to risk it…at least not yet.

But for the love of Fritz, this party sucked. Gilbert didn't even know what it was for. He had arrived late(as per usual) when it was something that didn't interested him in the least. Francis had recently come back from the New World, bringing along his colony with him or something to that effect. Gilbert didn't see any nations or land masses he failed to recognize though. It was the same old crowd of beautiful immortal countries with eyes too ancient for their youthful faces. Maybe the runt had already up and died on the way here. From what Gilbert had heard, the journey across the sea took anywhere from three months to almost a year with all the variants of weather, route, and skill of the ship's crew. It wasn't good for young nations still in their child state to be separated from their lands of origin for long periods of time. Gilbert personally thought that was one of the contributing factors of why the Vargas twins of Italy were so weak. Romano and Feliciano had spent most of their existences cooped up in other nation's house instead of in the hearts of their own. Adversely, the brothers of the Teutonic Order had made damn sure the Gilbert had been trained and ready before he had been unleashed like an conquering angel upon all of Christendom.

If that was the case, then it was just a matter of Francis being overdramatic about the whole thing. Gilbert didn't see what all the fuss was about. Nations came and nations went. It was the way of the world but the slice of world currently in this room seemed quite intent on boring Gilbert to death with idle prattle, weak wine, and even worse, ballroom dancing.

Some overdressed tart of a countess or a duchess from wherever had been trying to hang off of his arm for the past hour despite his obvious inattention to her presence, prattling in his ear to the point Gilbert was seriously considering cutting out her tongue. As far as he was concerned, Gilbert would be doing her future victims of polite society a favor in the long run. Hell, the dumb bitch might actually even have a shot at getting married after that. From what he had been forced to glean, that appeared to be the woman's main issue in life. There was Francis's wrath to consider though. Gilbert tried his hand at diplomacy instead.

"Unless you have a cock hidden underneath those petticoats, Fräulein, I suggest you go entice some poor other bastard into suicide.", Gilbert interrupted his unwanted company. He watched with mild interest as the woman turned an interesting shade of red all the way down to her bare shoulders.

"I remember why I invite you to these things now. How I have miss your charming wit and your effortless way with the ladies.", Francis said lightly to his fellow nation as he gently intervened before the conflict turned violent. The Frenchman murmured some soothing words to the affronted noblewoman, using his influence as a nation upon her to pass her off to a more willing conversationalist.

"I told you not to bother me with this kind of shit. It's your fault.", Gilbert grunted. It was as close to an apology as Francis was going to get. He could like it or leave it.

"La, but there is someone I want you to meet.", Francis told him, not insulted as he took the Prussian's words for what they were.

"So where the hell is the new meat? I have better things to do than entertain idiots, unlike some other nations I know.", Gilbert arched a slim silver brow at his host. He tossed his half full glass of champagne over his shoulder just elaborate his point. Gilbert broke out in a wide grin as the glass shattered and splashed on the intended victim behind him. Roderich should really know better by now but all things considered, the poor Austrian bastard was probably lost looked for the bathroom or something. If he wasn't then he definitely needed to find one now. Champagne would stain those expensive clothes of his.

Unimpressed by his old friend's actions, Francis threw a handkerchief to the glaring Austrian nation as he grabbed Gilbert's arm, leading him to the other side of the room. Gilbert let him but only because he noticed Elizabeta weaving in and out of the crowd, the potentially hazardous to his health Hungarian bee lining toward them. Blowing her a kiss, Gilbert ducked after Francis as the two nations made their escape, taking cover behind unsuspecting mortals.

The pair ended up in a relatively private side hallway, the only other occupants there too involved with each other to pay the nations any notice. They returned the favor for the most part, though Francis would pause occasionally to leer or make suggestions as more clothing was pushed up and removed. "Really, Gilbo? Must you, every time?", Francis sighed in aggravation, "It is as much your fault as hers that it did not work out between you two. If you had just listened to me…."

"We are not talking about this.", Gilbert grunted, not one to take reminders of his shortcoming and past failures well, "We were discussing this new land you have planted your flag in."

"Hardly. I do not share our dear Antonio's tastes in such matters.", Francis said dryly, the double entendre not lost on the old pervert , "And I will remind you that you were late. Do not think I did not notice. Mon petite grew weary so I sent him off to bed. It is your own fault that you missed him."

"Wunderbar. Now that I have wasted my time for nothing, can I go? I have things to do and people to screw.", Gilbert grunted, seething a little inwardly. Not waiting for his host's say of leave, Gilbert turned toward the nearest exit. If he left now, he could still find something or someone interesting enough to help him work off some of this edge that had been building ever since he got here. Gilbert need to fuck or fight his way back to a good mood and soon before things got messy….for other people.

Gilbert found his escape cut short though, Francis's arm latched onto his own like a manacle. "Stay. Stay and meet him in the morning. I will make it worth your while.", Francis smirked, reading the Prussian well. He leaned in to lick the side of moon pale face, letting his tongue linger as he tasted the salt of Gilbert's skin. Francis realized belated that he may have remained near a little too long, the French nation jumping back with a yelp as he clutched at his own face. Francis cursed in long screams of French as he felt blood well up under his palm. He had forgotten that predators are territorial. They also bite.

Francis was relieved to see that though the smile on Gilbert's face was feral, his crimson eyes were still quite sane, just highly amused at his expense.  
"Not even fucking you is worth putting up with all this scheisse.", Gilbert ran a bright pink tongue over his sharp teeth, "But I am curious about the new meat. It's not every day a new one of our kind comes along."

Francis was regretting handing off his handkerchief now, having to use the sleeve of his rather expensive silk shirt to wipe away the blood. The small wound had already healed to leave behind only a smear of crimson in its wake. Francis doubted that Gilbert would be courteous enough or willing to let him use his cloak, the heavy red fabric ideal for this sort of situation. Francis made sure to never break eye contact though with one of his oldest friends and advisories. "Very true, mon ami. He is special. Very special and very much mine. I will trust you to remember that if you want to leave my lands in one piece.", Francis said in light tones. To the casual observer, the French nation's remark would come off as casually said, joking even. The glint of steel in his cobalt eyes spoke of how real the threat was as they bore into scarlet orbs. The grin the Prussian gave back in answer could never be mistaken for anything other than a threat, the expression a bearing of teeth. The two nations stared each other down, their wills clashing against one another with almost visible sparks as the air between them wavered as if from heat. Gilbert was the one to break from it first, though Francis was sure it was not from a place of fear or weakness. Odds were the Prussian had just grown bored.

"Kesesese. Calm down, wino. I'm not Antonio either and I'm not England. Your new spit of land is too far away for me to give a damn about. I have already got bigger fish to fry closer to home. If you and Lord Eyebrows want to waste your money on boat rides, be my guest.", Gilbert snickered, "Just remember, when you both are too broke to fight back I will be there to pick of the pieces."

"How comforting.", Francis said flatly. The old nation was not one to take chances though, "I have your word on this?".

A flash of steel signaled Gilbert drawing his sword. To Francis's relief, he only used it on himself to slice his palm open so that blood welled up into the cup of it. "I swear by my blood which is the life of my people. I swear by my flesh that is the land of my people. I swear by my honor and being as Prussia that I mean no ill will or harm during my stay in your house and in your lands to that which is yours. I swear this witnessed by the Earth under our feet and the moon overhead.", Gilbert chanted the ancient oath, one that only nations could make and was considered binding among their kind. Prussians, and Prussia in particular, took such matters as honor very seriously. Francis knew this and shamelessly used it to his advantage. He personally blamed the zealot knights' influences for such things but the ends justified the means in his opinion.

"Now that that is settled, let us return to the party and enjoy ourselves." Francis smiled. Gilbert finished licking his palm clean to sneer at the French nation.

"I would rather chew glass.", Gilbert stated firmly, "Tell you what. You go back to the party and I'll come find you later to take you up on your offer."

"You will stay out of trouble then long enough to do so?", Francis said, blatant doubt tinting his tone. Gilbert's grin in response did nothing to alleviate the French nation's feelings of foreboding.

"Don't I always? Kesesese."

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True to his word, Gilbert did. He realized belated that he should have made Francis promise the same thing though. The Prussian glared down at the French nation who was currently cuddling with a pool of his own vomit, snoring into it to make putrid little bubbles.

Gilbert had worked off some steam by walking around the grounds and gardens of Versailles, though more for the exercise and the distraction of it than to actually look at anything. He had been here plenty of times before so the beauty of palace had long been lost to Gilbert. Only when he noticed the carriages leaving in mass, Gilbert had deemed it safe enough to return to the palace and hunt Francis down in his own private wing there. Upon arriving at the French nation's elaborate bedroom, Gilbert found his conquest passed out stinking drunk on the floor covered in his own stomach's contents. Champagne and foie gras smelled even less appealing the second time around.

"You useless bastard. This is why England is a better lay than you. He can at least keep his shit together until morning.", Gilbert swore at the uncaring drunk, kicking him in the side for good measure. Francis only snored louder in response and flopped back into his mess. Gilbert rolled his eyes, giving up. It was late, the day had been a total disappointment, and now on top of everything he wasn't even going to get laid. Apparently the sky had an opinion on the matter as well, a sharp crack of lightening and the rumbling call of thunder signaling the beginning of violent storm.

Gilbert found his room easily without guidance from the servants. He was a guest often enough to garner a permanent place for himself there. Gilbert decided to call it a night as he stripped down immediately upon entering the room. He always slept best when it was raining. The constant pitter patter of rain drowned out the other noises that would normally keep Gilbert awake while sleeping in a place that was not his own. His chances of being ambushed or attacked here were pretty slim but humans often made mistakes and mistook their kind for being mortal. It wouldn't be the first, second, or even the twentieth time that some idiot politician's plans for vengeance, domination, or promotion involved trying to eliminate him. Assassins, like the cowards Gilbert knew they were, worked best under the cover of night to pedal their wares of oiled steel, poison, or garrote. As a nation, Gilbert had little to no fear of dying by such methods. He tended to be more annoyed than anything else that his sleep was interrupted, but such is life.

Gilbert had finally settled down under a mountain of pillows and burrowed underneath the thick covers to find a comfortable position when he heard it. Over the rain that had just began to fall in thick opaque sheets. Over the lightings that was so bright it lit up the night as if it were day. Over the thunder that called like war drums across the swirling sky of ink and shadow.

It was a high pitched sound that cut through all of the blessed white noise that the weather provided like a knife to the ear. It was a child's cry for help holding a strained note of terror in it that lingered on the edge of the mind and in the air when it ended.

"Some royal brat is having a nightmare.", Gilbert thought warily to himself, doing his best to ignore it, "Someone will shut it up soon.".

No one did though.

The noise continued in regular intervals, the din of it only managing to grow more frequent and desperate in nature. "Is anyone going to shut that kid up?!", Gilbert yelled. From the sound it and lack of any evidence that anyone else was awake, Gilbert was stuck with a resounding 'nein'. "Holy fuck, I have to do everything around here. Fucking useless French.", Gilbert swore, unfurling himself from his soft warm den of goose down and silk. He normally didn't enjoy extravagant things, found them wasteful, but a comfortable bed was something Gilbert always appreciated having spent one too many nights sleeping on the bare cold ground.

Wrapping a sheet tightly around him like a toga and grabbing his sword, Gilbert marched down dark hallways toward the infuriating noise. He didn't think the weapon was necessary but it never hurt. He could also use it to persuade the child's keeper to move their ass faster out of bed the next time the brat decided to throw a tantrum.

Gilbert didn't have to go far, the wails coming from only a few doors down from his own room. Wasting no time, he kicked the door open, not caring who he woke up in his discontent as the wood gave and the metal tore. The yowling stopped abruptly at the door's demise, the noise reduced to sniffling. Gilbert followed it to its source which was surprising not in a very soft looking bed shaped like a large basinet. The rest of the room echoed this babyish theme. From what Gilbert could see in the dark, it was obviously a child's room, filled with soft looking toys and other pleasant things. The sole occupant of this lovely room was wedged into a corner, crying softly into the wall. Gilbert's night vision was excellent but even he couldn't get a lot of detail from the huddled mass that shivered before him.

"Was that you just now?!", Gilbert demanded. He thought the child looked over its shoulder at him but he couldn't be sure. If he hadn't been looking so intently, Gilbert would have missed the movement of the child's head, barely signaling a nod.

"What the fuck is your problem?! People are trying to sleep!", Gilbert yelled, the irony of the situation lost on him to his temper. The child gulped wetly in response, somehow shrinking down smaller. A bolt of lighting partnered with a near deafening clap of thunder made the little one jump up in fright though, a shrill scream tearing from a small throat. Tiny hands clamped themselves firmly against the sides of a soft looking head as the child started to rock back and forth in place obviously terrified.

Sighing, Gilbert put aside his sword as he looked around the room for a source of light. Lamps were quickly set ablaze, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Gilbert went back over to the cowering child to nudge its backside with his foot. He grimaced when his bare toes touched moisture. The stink of fear and misery had covered up the scent of urine that the child was currently sitting in. Gilbert looked upward, appealing to the ceiling for some sort of guidance. It seemed to be his day to deal with other people's body fluids for some reason. When the kid didn't react, Gilbert sat down on the floor a few feet away from him in quiet observation to let the little one figure out on his own that the room was illuminated now.

Gradually, the child sat up on its own and though still trembling, turned around to face Gilbert.

The Prussian blinked back in surprise, stunned into further silence by the child's eyes. They were a soft purplish blue, a color of which Gilbert had only chanced to see for a few moment in the dying of the day, its hue here and gone in the passing of mere minutes. The twilight orbs were framed by thick golden lashes, tears still clinging to their lengths like diamond dust. The stunning eyes were set in a pale round face with features as delicate as a doll, surrounded by soft wavy locks of pale golden hair. One defiant curl hung away from the rest on the forehead to float in front of the child's face. The toddler was dressed in a simple white gown, the collar of it bound shut with a bright red ribbon. Amethyst eyes studied the Prussian warily as a rosebud mouth parted.

"Are you a ghost?", the fair headed child whispered, his voice like wind through curled fingers.

"Don't be a dumbass. Of course I'm not. How many ghosts do you know light lamps?", Gilbert snorted, gesturing to the obvious.

"You look like one….", the child stated, staring openly at Gilbert's colorless skin, silver hair, and crimson eyes. It took a moment for the Prussian to remember he was only dressed in a sheet which was doing nothing generous for his coloration or presentation.

Quite used to the stares and comments of others for his unusual appearance, Gilbert shrugged, studying the child just as openly back. He was one of their kind that much was obvious. Gilbert wondered how old the child actually was. Nations could be held in an adolescent form for centuries if their lands and people did not expand, grow, and evolve.

The gem like eyes that met his own held real innocence within them though, something that nations did not keep for very long. It made Gilbert realize that this being was truly young in every sense of the word. Francis had actually found himself a very rare treasure in the wildernesses of the New World.

"Who are you?", Gilbert asked, lowering his voice. The young nation was badly scared either by the storm or his new surrounding, or even being away from his land. Possibly all three. Having a stranger dressed in a sheet and wielding a sword did little to calm already frayed nerves. Gilbert would have used his name but he honestly couldn't remember if Francis had ever mentioned the young one's title. Being still and speaking in soft tones would just have to do for now.

"I-I'm K-Kanata.", the child stammered out shyly, "P-papa calls me Mathieu.". As he spoke, Mathieu fiddled with the edges of his gown, twisting the sodden material between his fingers in nervous gestures.

"Papa? Kesesese.", Gilbert couldn't help but snicker. It was just too rich. Maybe Francis shared more perverted traits with Antonio than he realized or cared to admit. "And the name Mathieu? Really?", Gilbert chuckled until he saw the child was drawing back from him again, a hurt look on his face. "I'm not laughing at you. I am amused by the arrogance of your keeper.", Gilbert bit back the rest of his laughter in an effort to at least appear serious, "Did you know that your name means 'Gift of God'. No? Well, that is Frannie for you. You can never say he thinks too small or doubts divine benevolence.".

A few moments of relative silence passed. Gilbert closed his eyes, listening to the sharp staccato that the raindrops beat out against glass and wished he was in bed asleep. A soft whimper drew Gilbert's attention back to the problem at hand and the reason he was not enjoying a peaceful night's rest.

"My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. I am more formally known as Prussia. You may refer to me as awesome though.", Gilbert said loftily, unable to resist the urge to say his full title in such a grand manner. It wasn't every day he got to introduce himself to a brand new nation. He wanted Kanata to remember it.

The overture of naming did not have the overall impressive effect Gilbert was going for upon the child though, Mathieu only looking mildly curious from it. "What does your name mean?", he asked after a moment.

"Bright pledge of the axe smith. Catchy, ain't it?". Gilbert grinned, answering with no hesitation. A century or so of having to be part of the clergy had given Gilbert a lot of time to read, but even more so to understand words, their origins, and their meanings. All names had a hidden message within them and Gilbert liked to surprise people and other nations with his knowledge of them. The little one knew nothing of histories and conflicts, or the Prussian's reputation though so he accepted Gilbert's words for what they were without any bias. Mathieu would have asked Gilbert more but the storm felt ignored by the two beings, reminding them of its presence with an ear shattering crack and explosion of blinding light and deep rumbling noise that pitched so low that it made the palace vibrate underfoot. Mathieu fell back to the ground with a shriek, curling up into a ball.

"Not this again….", Gilbert snorted. The ball of frightened child did not respond, choosing to shake in place. With a sigh, Gilbert moved closer to the huddled mass until he could put his hand on a shuddering back. The gown beneath his touch was moist from sweat and smelled sickly sour and sweet all at the same time, an odor that only young children seemed able to produce.

"You know it's just a storm and you are rolling around in your own filth.", Gilbert gently chided, "I assure you, you don't want to follow in your 'papa's' footsteps too closely.". Mathieu whimpered in reply, curling up tighter. Left with few options, Gilbert reached over to collect the pee soaked child into his arms, settling Mathieu in his lap. If he left now, the child would just start crying again. It was either get no sleep at all or calm Mathieu down and get a few hours at least.

Small children were not exactly Gilbert's forte though, especially ones that were covered in sticky clear snot, tears, and widdle. Gilbert did his best to keep sitting still and emote some sort of calm. To his relief, Mathieu seemed to respond to it, the child curling up into the crook of Gilbert's arms and body as if he were meant to be there. He was still trembling but was at least not making any more of those awful sounds. Gilbert ignored the various body fluids that warmly coated his skin and makeshift garb. He had dealt with and would continue to deal with worse. On the bright side, Gilbert thought, at least it wasn't shit mixed with rotting flesh. That particular bouquet was a common component found in war and not easily forgotten.

"C'mon. Let's go find Francis and go get you clean up.", Gilbert yawned, rising carefully up with his new burden. He shifted Mathieu to one arm so that he could grab his sword on the way out. He could certainly use it on Francis if nothing else.

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And it was tempting.

Francis was still where Gilbert had left him earlier. The only difference now was that the vomit had formed a smelly crust on everything. Gilbert sighed deeply, a headache threatening to make itself known from behind his eyes. He certainly did not feel like cleaning up two nations so Gilbert decided to focus solely on the smaller one. Mathieu turned out to be unexpectedly helpful by pointing to a large basin with pitcher waiting to be used on top of a nearby dressing table. A quick peek into it revealed that the cream colored pitcher was full of clean water. Relieved to have one less thing to look for, Gilbert set Mathieu down gently, pulling his gown off in one smooth motion to toss the filthy clothing onto Francis's bed. It seemed only fair to Gilbert for inconveniencing him. Gilbert dumped the pitcher over Mathieu's head, leaving the child nation sputtering in shock and cold.

"Why did you do that?!", Matthew chattered out through his teeth, looking reproachfully up at the Prussian, "You could have poured it into the basin. I know how to wash myself."

"I'm sorry. How was I to know you knew how to bathe when you can't seem to grasp that a storm is just noise?", Gilbert shot back annoyed. He rooted through Francis's armoires of which there were several, the French nation never lacking in apparel. Gilbert made a point of pulling out some of the more expensive items from them. Finding something he liked, Gilbert stripped down out of his sheet so that the ruined linen could join the dressing gown there. As he procured himself a fine set of clothing one he was sure Francis would miss, Gilbert tossed a pair of shirts to Mathieu. "Feel free to dry yourself off with one of those and get dressed in the other.", Gilbert instructed.

"I have clothing in my room. Ones that fit.", Mathieu made a face, not sure if he should really be using a pearl encrusted blouse heavy with embroidery to dry himself off with.

"We're not going back to your room.", Gilbert told him. Mathieu paused in his grooming to look up in surprise at the Prussian.

"Why not? Where are we going?", Mathieu asked hesitantly. He didn't think the pale man was going to hurt him and he obviously knew his papa. Gilbert's movements and speech were too sharp and quick to make him feel comfortable though, nothing at all like Francis's flowing words or eloquent mannerisms. His papa reminded Mathieu of a stag, a regal king of the forest. Gilbert though…..Mathieu saw the albino as a wolf, one that paced restlessly along the edges of a campfire just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"We are going outside.", Gilbert grinned, the expression full of sharp teeth. It only further confirmed Mathieu's lupine impression. The Prussian eye's though were so much more though than that of a beast's. They glittered madly even in the dim light of lamps in his room and the dying firelight of Francis's hearth. They were redder than a cardinal's crest and flush with the shimmering frost of his silver eyelashes.

"B-but it's raining….and it's nighttime.", Mathieu stammered out, his eyes going wide. A glance out the window reconfirmed both.

"Ja, it is. Very good.", Gilbert agreed sarcastically, "But that hardly seems to matter now since you won't let me sleep."

"Are you going to punish me?", Mathieu gulped. He had never been disciplined before by anyone, the small nation a quiet and well mannered child. Mathieu had seen other children penalized though, and it usually involved the use a switch, a belt, or a book on bare bottom. Mathieu winced at the thought. Gilbert struck him as the belt type.

"What? Nein.", Gilbert shook his head, "Being the awesome nation that I am, I am going to help you.".

"Help me do what?", Mathieu asked cautiously, his face and tone belying the severe doubt he had for the Prussian's abilities on the matter.

"You'll find out. Now get dressed. I'm not waiting forever. I'm generous, not patient.", Gilbert ordered. Mathieu wrapped himself up in Francis's shirt the best that he could, the scarlet material pooling all around him in shimmering folds.

"Kesesese. You look good in that color.", Gilbert cackled, scooping Mathieu up again. He walked down dark hallways in wide strides that made the few servants and guards about scuttle out of his way like mice before a cat. It made Gilbert wonder why no one had gone in to check on Mathieu. He made a mental note to bring it to Francis's attention in the morning.

Gilbert kept up his quick pace until the two were outdoors. The rain met greedily them in sheets, pelting the nations with harsh force, cutting winds, and sharp water. Matthew tried desperately to burrow into Gilbert's chest cavity in a vain attempt to hide from the elements. The little nation shrieked as the Prussian came to a sudden stop, lifting Mathieu up and away high over his head.

"Open your eyes. What do you see?", Gilbert asked, his gruff voice somehow heard over the wind, the rain, and the roar of the sky. The voice was solid and calm as if they were in a parlor discussing what to have for breakfast, and not standing outside in the middle of a storm. Mathieu struggled against the iron like hands that held him aloft and the rain that mercilessly kept pelting him.

"Answer me, child, and keep in mind, I am not a patient man. What do you see, Kanata?", Gilbert pressed. Mathieu made himself open his eyes.

"It's dark and it's cold and it's wet.", Mathieu's voice trembled. He wasn't even sure if Gilbert could hear him but fervently hoped that was the answer the Prussian wanted from him.

"Ja. It is all that. It is dark because it is nighttime. It is cold and miserable because it is raining. Very good.", Gilbert said almost tranquilly, "What else?"

"There is thunder. It hurts my ears.", Mathieu said, looking around and receiving some vivid reminders, "The lightening also hurts my eyes."

"It does that.", Gilbert answered simply. "Are these new things to you? Have you never seen rain and lightening before? Or felt thunder?"

"Of course. It rains all the time in my lands.", Mathieu yelled back, trying to struggle free again. It was a futile gesture though, the Prussian's grip on him was like death's own.

"Now that we have established that you know all this", Gilbert continued, " Tell me. Why are you so scared?".

Mathieu ceased to move, stunned into compliance by the question. "I-I don't know….I was just scared.", Mathieu admitted slowly, unsure if it was the right answer. It's didn't sound like it to him but Gilbert's rain streaked face broke out into a wide grin.

"You don't have to look so shocked. You can be afraid. It is all how you chose to use that fear, making it count for something. Do you want to curl up and surrender to it? Or do you want to make it your blade and strike back with it?', Gilbert said, "This is just a storm. There are far worse things in life to be afraid of in this world. You must learn to master your fear and not let it control you. Do you want to die with blood on your hands or with piss between your legs?".

Mathieu stared down at the Prussian. The older nation looked fierce and wild, despite being soaked down to the bone. His silver hair was made iron gray by the weight of the water in it, the spiky locks plastered to his skull. Gilbert's stolen clothing clung to him like a second skin, outlining a compact body rippling with power like a sword barely kept in its sheath. He stood fearlessly before the elements, tall and proud with a feral grin upon his sharp face as if daring the world to come and find him.

Mathieu could only nod in the face such confidence and power, having never seen its like before. He was brought back down into the safety of strong arms and held close.

"Are you going to ever cry at the sight or sound of rain again?", Gilbert asked, sounding almost casual about it. Mathieu wasn't fooled by the light tone, shaking his head emphatically in answer.

Gilbert nodded once, looking pleased with himself. "Good. Now let's go back inside. It really sucks being hit by lightening.".

"That happens?", Mathieu squeaked out. To his surprise though, instead of being horrified by this news, he found himself drawn in. "Does it happen a lot?".

"Nein. It's actually pretty rare and you have to be a complete dummkopf about it. Like 'waving around a spear in the middle of a storm' kind of dumb.", Gilbert shrugged, "It's not fun and you can't get rid of the smell for a week.".

As they walked back into the palace, Mathieu had time to think that his present company was very strange and very different from his papa. Gilbert was loud, contradictory, and just plain weird…but he was also gentle and well meaning even if he did have a strange way of showing it.

Gilbert returned Mathieu to his room, the small nation soon in a warm and blessedly dry dressing gown made for his size and wrapped up tight in a blanket that felt divine against his rain chilled skin. Mathieu could not help but notice that Gilbert was still in his own wet clothing.

"Aren't you cold?", Mathieu asked, feeling somewhat responsible for the Prussian's condition.

"Sure, but it's just gives me an excuse to drink all of Francis's good liqueur and raid his closets again. He'll have my head if you get sick or something.", Gilbert shrugged carelessly, "Now, go to sleep.".

Mathieu laid down obediently in his bed, tucking the blanket in all around him cozily. Gilbert walked around the room blowing out lamps, but left one burning.

"Gilbert?", Mathieu said in hesitant question as the Prussian turned to leave.

"Ja?", Gilbert sighed tiredly, so close to his own bed and a good night's sleep he could almost taste it.

Mathieu crawled out from under the blanket to stand up in his bed so that he could execute a bow to the other nation. He rose up to find the Prussian staring at him with an odd expression. "Merci beaucoup.", Mathieu smiled.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, human personification of Prussia, enjoyed a great many of things. He lived for battle, the sounds of razor metal singing as their edges crossed paths. Gilbert appreciated good food and alcohol, the burn of liqueur down his throat and in his stomach, and the metallic tang of roasted meat. Though he was shy to reveal it, Gilbert treasured books and the written word, old thick tomes he himself had helped copy and of course, his own diaries. He prized intangible things as well- the thrill of the hunt, the adrenalin rush of fighting hand to hand, and the euphoria and victory that came from fucking.

There were very few things that Gilbert actually loved though, truly adored. Gilbert Beilschmidt, hellion with a blade, feared by friend and foe alike, and awesome bad ass, loved cute things.

And right now, Mathieu was the cutest thing that he had ever seen. It was like someone had just dumped a bucket of baby chicks over his head, the little bowing nation before him was just that overwhelmingly adorable. Gilbert ducked his head, turning away from him. One of the reason he had become so shameless was due to the pallor of his skin. Being an albino, Gilbert could not hide even the slightest of blushes that graced his face.

"You're welcome.", Gilbert grunted, quickly shutting the door behind him. He needed to find his own bed, sleep for a couple of hours, and leave as soon as possible before he did something phenomenally stupid like kidnap Mathieu for his smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Francis never did find out why his friend left so early without saying good bye or how his bed ended up smelling like a toilet. Mathieu was strangely stoic as well, only smiling a soft expression whenever Francis asked him about it and changing the subject.

Francis never did get his clothes back either.


	2. Chapter 2

APH PruCan Timeless 2

The sun goes down, the stars come out,  
And all that counts is here and now,  
My universe will never be the same,  
I'm glad you came, I'm glad you came.  
-The Wanted 'I'm Glad You Came'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Once upon a time at the Great Exhibition in London circa 1851.…..  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

About three centuries later, Gilbert Beilschmidt's opinion about parties and the general humanity who attended them had not changed much. The Prussian still hated the majority of these useless functions although this one was turning out to be a touch more interesting than he had originally thought it would be. It was still full of all the same shitty uptight people(even more so since they were in England) with sticks so far up their asses it was a small wonder to Gilbert that their tongues were not full of splinters. At least this time, there were some interesting things to look at.

Arthur Kirkland, old pirate and thief that he was, had stolen an idea of Francis's own making. Building upon it, the English nation had created a spectacle, the kind of which he was claiming the world had never seen before. It was, of course, a barely veiled attempt to show off his Industrial Revolution to the rest of the lot, thumbing his empirical nose at the other nations. Everyone had been invited as far as Gilbert could tell. He was seeing glimpses of nations and countries he had never even heard of except in passing.

The Asian nations were a particularly curious sight to see. Though it was obvious they did not enjoy each other's company, the six immortals cloistered together in their colorfully garbed group following one nation in particular, a long haired being in a fiery red robe with dragons embroidered so finely upon the delicate material it looked painted on. Gilbert wasn't sure what gender of the person was at first and did not feel inclined to ask. With the exception of the child in their midst, the being appeared to be the youngest of their group. That was until Gilbert met the nation's golden brown eyes. The weight behind them was staggering even to one such as Gilbert, his own considerable centuries suddenly inconsequential. The Prussian realized immediately that this could only be China, the Immortal nation. Gilbert nodded slightly in deference to him.

The only definitive girl in the bunch helpfully wore pink garments and flowers in her long hair, the length of which flowed down her back to hit her around about the knees. Her hair was some of the loveliest Gilbert had ever seen, the blue black locks a silken waterfall of ink against the pale pink silk of her strange dress. She seemed to be the most nervous but also the most adventurous out of them all, an odd combination of qualities that tended to make her dart in and out of her perceived safety zone. She made Gilbert think of a blossom floating in and out of the wind with the swirl and twist of her fine silken robes.

The only child in the group had very familiar eyebrows, which was unfortunate. Gilbert wondered vaguely if he was related to England or had made the mistake of pissing off the old mage. The child carried a very serious demeanor about him and the face fur only deepened the impression. He wore red as well but his clothing was styled more like a basic tunic and was paired with leggings of a liquid like black material that flowed about him as he moved.

The smallest man….Gilbert used this term of gender hesitantly, the exotic clothing that all the Asian nations wore were really throwing him off….the smallest man in the group was garbed simply yet elegantly all in shimmering black(Gilbert could swear there was a pattern woven black and black into it), the only splash of color a piece of bright blue material with strange looking fish printed upon it that acted as a belt around his slender waist. He appeared to be the quietest out of the six, his blank impenetrable expression rivaling his child companion's own. He looked like the type person Gilbert loved to fuck with and the Prussian loved a challenge.

The tallest of the six made the Prussian's back teeth grind in irritation. He reminded Gilbert of a certain Austrian a lot in looks. The two had similar flyaway dark locks of hair and wore glasses that tended to perch on the ends of their noses. The Asian nation proved himself different though by seeming to be at least approachable. He smiled the most out of his companions and appeared to be the most willing to converse with strangers when the others shied away with an embarrassed flapping of hands and hiding behind wide sleeves. The man stood out from his companions as well in clothing, his long robes a brilliant shade of yellow and embroidered with elephants that were decorated with sparkling topaz and bits of gold.

The remaining member of the entourage was…..well…..just weird in Gilbert's opinion. He wore all white with what looked like a blue vest of some sort tied over his robes. The nation seem to argue the most, constantly pointing to exhibits, claiming that he made them first. When he wasn't doing that, the man would grab China's chest(causing the other nation to yell and complain)and claim his breasts or from what Gilbert could tell, lack there of. It was true that every nation had their own unique customs but the Prussian was failing to see the reason or purpose behind this one.

As much he would have liked to engage them in conversation or combat(wherever their words would take them), Gilbert was stuck with his present company. He and Ludwig were working their way through the Grand Exhibition centralized in the Crystal Palace, booth by booth, no matter what dull things was being presented. Ludwig factitiously took notes on everything no matter no trivial or absurd it was and what was worse, he was taking his sweet time about it. The German's current fascination and subtle Prussian torture was for the Tempest Prognosticator which was basically a barometer that used leeches to predict weather. As far as Gilbert was concerned, leeches should be left in the Dark Ages or the muck holes they inhabited. He had seen enough quacks in his long lifetime try to peddle the slimy bloodsuckers as a cure for the common cold to the secret of eternal youth.

This was Gilbert's own personal version of hell, hence why he was bothering to actually study the press of humanity with a dash of immortals thrown into it for flavor. England had somehow managed to get even all of the Nordic nations, who were usually antisocial bastards, to come but that little achievement could have been all due to Denmark and his methods of persuasion. One of the Dane's inventors has a notable submission of a single cast piano frame. Gilbert didn't give two shits about it much less figure out why such of thing was of any importance. The exhibit had left Roderich in tears of joy for whatever reason, the Austrian nation taking up most of the inventor's time with inquiries and demands to play the exhibit's piano to make sure it sounded right to him.

The wild haired Dane was nowhere in sight though, much to Gilbert's disappointment. He would have to make it a point to find Denmark later and raise seven kinds of hell before the night was over. There was to be a ball later on, something Gilbert was not looking forward to. An inebriated Dane would help alleviate this feeling.

Normally Gilbert would have ditched his tedious companion for more exciting and alcohol filled pastures but England had made it very clear about his opinion on such matters when he had invited brothers, making it a point to send a list of strict rules to the German. Despite his misgivings, Gilbert conceded that he thought it was a smart move on England's part. Ludwig practically lived for that kind of shit. The result of it though was that the German felt inclined to explain all this in intricate boring detail to Gilbert…..repeatedly. If the Prussian even so much as stuck a toe out of line, he would be dropkicked back over the Channel by the invincible iron gentleman himself with no excuses of any kind accepted.

Ludwig had even gone so far as to promise England that he would keep an eye on his older brother. Gilbert considered that a very shortsighted and phenomenally stupid move on his younger sibling's part. Ludwig should really know better by now. The Prussian was already plotting his revenge, something especially horrible he would have to do later to Ludwig when the German least expected it. Gilbert's normal revenge of moving all of the OCD German's furniture over by less than two inches was simply not going to be enough this time.

A shaft of sunlight striking gold caught Gilbert's eye, distracting him and effectively interrupting his nefarious plots for a moment. He watched as a pair of blondes walked past him, the two men oblivious to the world they were so deep in their conversation. Both were dressed too casually for this event, especially when compared next to the more formally attired attendees of this function. From their foreign garb(i.e. tacky in this case) , they were obviously from across the Atlantic.

Gilbert recognized America easily enough. He had trained the younger nation back in the day when he was fighting his war of independence. Gilbert had ended up training the teenager for shits and giggles when one of Prussian's generals had gone over to the New World. Time had been kind to him, the impetuous youth had grown up tall and broad with muscle, his skin the golden brown of people who worked outside on a regular basis. Gilbert snorted in amusement at that. After all these years and America was still a fucking farmer. The coloration worked well for him though, making America's crystal blue eyes and sun streaked honey hair stand out all the more. The American was dressed oddly in a combination of leather and cotton in shades of stained earth, with leather coverings over his pants, high boots made of cracked leather, and a plain white cotton shirt with no decoration upon it. Without his standing as an invited guest and a nation, Gilbert doubted he would have made it in with his current sense or lack of style. The Prussian was amused to see that America had still not lost all the baby fat from his face and even better, now wore glasses as well, the gold rims of the squarish frames glinting in stray sunlight.

The blonde next to him was the more surprising of the two to Gilbert, but not only because the man was obviously America's twin, a fact that had not been made known to him upon their first meeting. What shocked the Prussian the most was that he still recognized Canada after all these centuries. Those twilight eyes were hard to miss or ever forget. Matthew(the nation had been slightly renamed by England when he had procured the colony from France) had grown up as tall and fit as his brother though his skin remained as pale as cream. The Canadian now carried a polar bear cub in his arms and wore a pair of glasses of his own, though his were silver and more roundish in nature. The Canadian was dressed a bit more appropriately but still too casually for this event, the nation wearing dark trousers paired with a purple shirt and fitted black vest unbuttoned with no tie or cravat in sight.

The two nations were young yet vibrant, power practically rolling off of their being. They moved through the sea of people uninhibited, the crowd parting for them as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. Gilbert's eyes tracked and followed them until the North American brothers disappeared again from view, still arguing.

"What is it?", Ludwig asked, finally satisfied with his knowledge of leeches and their applications to the weather.

"Mmmm? Nothing.", Gilbert shook his silvery head, "Just saw someone I know.". He found himself feeling oddly hesitant with Ludwig on talking about what should have been a common place event. Gilbert hadn't even exchanged words with either of the twins and yet he found his tongue stifled in inaction. Confused with himself, Gilbert shoved these opaque, unfamiliar feelings into the back of his mind for some careful viewing later when he had time and privacy to do so. "When is the ball tonight?", Gilbert asked absently, his forefinger scratching his pale cheek in thought.

"Not until seven. Why do you ask, bruder?", Ludwig regarded his older sibling warily. In his experience with the Prussian, Gilbert never asked anything carelessly. That and the thoughtful look on his face was a bit frightening in its intensity. "What are you planning?".

"Never you mind, West.", Gilbert grinned slowly, watching Ludwig out of the corner of his eye as the German paled under the untamed expression.

"I gave my word that you….", Ludwig launched into his lecture to find his words being waved away like gnats in annoyance.

"Calm yourself, dummkopf. I just want to talk with someone there. Is that a crime or against any of your precious rules?", Gilbert informed his kin dryly, lifting a single silver eyebrow at him in judgment and challenge.

"With who?", Ludwig pressed tentatively. That could actually be a very bad thing considering Gilbert's pension for causing total and utter chaos. He didn't even really have to say or do anything. If Gilbert stared at nation longer enough, bad things tended to happen. Add France and Spain in that precarious mix and that was just a disaster fated to happen. There were nations who broke out into a cold sweat just at the mere mention of the Bad Touch Trio.

Gilbert sighed as he watched Ludwig look around them, the German obviously looking was what he had missed a few moments ago in favor of leeches. "My business is my own.", Gilbert intoned, "And I will remind you, dear bruder of mine, that keeping me on a short leash will only end up with you having your arm torn off by it. I would advise that you not take your self proclaimed title as my keeper too seriously or make promises that weigh so heavily on your morals. I feel that the stress of it might end up being very bad for your health.". Gilbert paused to give Ludwig a significant look.

Frowning down at his notes, Ludwig decided to let the matter at hand rest, the German making it a point of moving on to the next booth and the 'wonders' it held. Gilbert followed, though his thoughts were not one the exhibit, his worried brother, or the ebb and flow of humanity around him. Doing what he thought was once the unthinkable, Gilbert started to count down the minutes until the ball.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After centuries of wearing some sort of uniform whether it was for the clergy or the military, Gilbert admitted to himself that he didn't really care for the style of this particular period in time. He felt it lacked a certain flair or as Francis would put it, a certain 'je ne sais quoi'. One of the nice things about being an immortal though was that when one didn't like the fashion of the day, they simply just had to outwait it or ignore it entirely. Case in point, Francis still wore his hair long so matter what the current style or fad was, though his clothing was always up to date. In direct contrast, England had never been able to do anything with his own tresses besides trimming it back and praying for some sort of miracle. Francis had once told Gilbert a story about England's hair that still made the Prussian chuckle to this day upon remembering it or hearing Francis's vivid retelling of the infamous golden caterpillar.

The Victorian age(as these years were being called) seemed to favor black a little too heavily for Gilbert's liking. The albino personally preferred blues when he got to chose what he wore, the various shades of the color working well with his abnormal features and skin tone. Black tended to make him look like a corpse.

His cravat was a deep shade of crimson though, so dark that it was almost black and looked velvety to the touch. Gilbert found that it pleased him, taking a moment to stroke the plush decoration with long bone white fingers. The tie pin for it was also favored, the chunk of onyx carved into the likeness of a spread wing black eagle. It had matching cufflinks as well, the dark jewelry accented with a spray of garnets that made the eyes and wingtips of the birds frozen mid-flight glitter darkly in an almost menacing way.

"Not too shabby.", Gilbert grinned at his reflection, admiring the effect. He also caught Ludwig's eye roll from behind, the German already fully dressed in his own tux, though his cravat was a satiny cobalt and the jewels in his eagles were sapphires. Ludwig was currently taming his hair, smoothing platinum locks back with the aid of some pomade so that it gleamed and lay flat like polished gold.

Gilbert rolled his eyes back at him, not seeing the point of it. It wasn't like the other nations going didn't know what they really looked like. It had been Gilbert's observation though that that was the way of things for nations. They either saw each other at the very best of times in places such as this or the very worst of times when war was upon them. Ballroom or battlefield, parlor or pillage, dining or dying-there didn't seem to be any happy medium for them.

The Prussian was not one to dwell on such matters though, cutting off his line of deep thought with a satisfied nod to his reflection. They really served no purpose in his line of work. One didn't debate vague concepts with another who was trying to beat their head in with the butt of a gun. Walking out of the bathroom, Gilbert took the opportunity run his hands through Ludwig's hair, effectively ruining all of the German's careful work, before he ran off snickering. Dodging a thrown jar of pomade as well as several other bathroom items, Gilbert found himself wondering if a certain someone would remembered the Prussian just as vividly as Gilbert had recognized him.

If he did not, Gilbert promised himself that he would endeavor so that Canada….Matthew would never make that sort of mistake again.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The ball was held in the Crystal Palace, a large space in its depths cleared of all exhibits to be decorated in a flood of near fatal white, from the tablecloths to the serving staff that scurried about to the mass amounts of decorative flowers that threatened to drown the guest in their scent. The glass enclosed steel building was lit up from within by candlelight and the clever use of mirrors, the structure glowing like a jar filled to the brim with fireflies.

As Ludwig and Gilbert were formally announced as their lands, the Prussian looked around the room hoping to pick out his intended sooner rather than later. The ball was merely the vehicle to do this in Gilbert's mind. Everything and everyone else was inconsequential. Matthew turned out nowhere to be found though, the only eyes of violet hue belonging to the nation of Russia who smiled back at Gilbert, the expression chilling him from the inside for some reason. The Prussian barely bit back his answering snarl in time. He didn't want to get kicked out of the party before he had a chance with the Canadian.

Snagging a drink from a passing tray, Gilbert amused himself by noting who was here and who was still missing. Most of Europe was here in force though the Italys were notably missing. Gilbert wondered about the whereabouts of the Vargas twins. He would have liked to have seen Feliciano, the younger of the pair who was very cute and sweet natured in his personality unlike his twin Romano who could teach a lemon a thing or two about being sour. Francis and Antonio were already here, the Prussian finding his two oldest friends easily enough. The Spaniard were currently involved in a heated conversation with Belgium and her older brother Holland while Francis was too busy courting one of the Baltics to be bothered by anything or anyone at the moment including his friend's eventually beat down. To Gilbert's surprise, he recognized the French nation's quarry as Eduard who was a very quiet and private nation. The Estonian looked just as perplexed as Gilbert felt about Francis's advances. The Prussian never bet against Francis or his tenacity though, no matter uninterested the target may be at first with the concept of l'amore. It was only a matter of time and who was topping before they caved.

Luckily, Gilbert didn't have to wait long for Matthew's appearance, the Canadian arriving as part as England's entourage. Gilbert turned to look along with everyone else as England was announced with all the pomp and circumstance that the old nation desired.

The British Empire practically strutted into the room, flanked by his older brothers Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. The United Kingdom was all dressed in tuxes, though England wore a velvet cloak dyed a rather bloody shade of scarlet and trimmed with ermine over his shoulders, setting him apart from the others. Gilbert was amused to see that Scotland still wore his kilt instead of pants. He himself had never been one for uncomfortable breezes and drafts between the legs but each kink to his own the Prussian wagered. The colonies and territories followed in behind them like exotic duckling, each announced in turn.

Gilbert found himself most impressed with India who held himself regally like the stolen prince he was. He wore the clothing of his country, the fabric so rich in color it could have bled rainbows. The costume had jewels sewn into every inch of the design so that the nation sparkled with every movement. To his surprise, Gilbert was pleased to see himself admired back by the dark beauty, the albino making the Indian pause a moment to acknowledge him.

Australia came next followed closely by New Zealand. Gilbert observed both of them with great interest. It was strange for the Prussian to see so many unfamiliar faces all at once and he was enjoying the experience. Australia looked like a thug made to wear a suit at gunpoint(which wasn't too far from the truth). The Australian was a tall and powerfully built man with a darkly tanned skin, the surface of which was marked with scars and bandages. He had wild locks of chocolate brown hair, two notable locks of it on his forehead refusing to lay down. His eyes were a vivid shade of green, the hue of which was only found in lost jungles. Gilbert was torn to name the color of it. Like all of the Celtic nations, he had those unfortunately large eyebrows, though they worked a lot better on Australia's rugged physique than they did with England's more deceivingly delicate one. Though his eyes glittered with good humor, Gilbert observed that they darted everywhere and to everyone in the room. Gilbert wondered to himself if that was because Australia was trying to look for the quickest way out or the quickest way to start trouble. The evil looking koala that hung off of Australia's back to glare malevolently at the crowd further impressed this notion.

In comparison, New Zealand was almost Australia's opposite. The nation was smaller and more pale, more resembling his 'motherland' of England than his 'brother' did. New Zealand had short blonde hair with a large peculiar curls on either side of his head. His eyes were a complicated shade of bluish green, the tint of them seeming to change every couple of moments. New Zealand's demeanor appeared far more calm than Australia's twitchy own but that might have been helped by his burden, a small fluffy sheep who dozed in his arms.

Gilbert would have spent more time studying them all, but Canada was announced, the nation entering the room as silently as the fall of snow. Dressed in a tux like his 'brothers', Matthew made a striking figure, the suit lengthening his already tall form and brought attention to his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His cravat was red as well, but nowhere as dark as Gilbert's own, the scarlet like a drop of blood against Matthew's neck. It was held in place by a delicate carved tiepin in the shape of a white leaf, the design echoed in his cufflinks.

All in all, it was a very impressive amount of strutting Gilbert had to admit, with England showing off all of his beautiful new toys to the world at large. It was almost sad that it only took one nation to effectively ruin the entire effect by simply showing up. A name was announced, the room turning like a wave, slow at first but finishing with snap as necks were craned and lips were parted to gasp.

America walked in with his head held high, dressed all in white from head to toe looking like some sort of wayward angel or new god. While England sparkled from all his plundered wealth, America shone all on his own, naturally, with gold and diamonds from his own soil. As he moved, pristine leather of boot and belt gleamed almost wetly against the suit of unmarked silk, the American's tux obviously tailored and expertly fitted to him for once. Gold buttons and the gold of his frames were the gilding on the lily while white diamonds in his tie pin and cufflinks twinkled madly like the bound stars they were shaped like.

Even more startling, America walked directly up to England who looked so angry at being shown up at his own party that Gilbert thought he would spit or stab the other nation. Neither reaction would have really surprised Gilbert. Proving he was ever the risk taker, America threw common sense and caution to the wind. He took England's hand into his own to lift it to his lips, brushing their silken touch against the back of empire's knuckles in a barely there kiss.

"My sweet England. So happy to see me as always.", America said easily enough, a smile daring to touch the lips that still caressed England.

"Ill met by moonlight, proud America.", England sniffed haughtily, biting back other hostilities in time while turning an admonishing phrase upon the American with his Bard's help.

"What, jealous England?", America's shadow of a smile resolving itself into one a challenge, a hint of teeth on England's captured hand, "Nations, skip hence. I have foresworn his bed and company.". America contradicted his own words by lewdly flicking his tongue out to taste England's skin.

England's breathe only caught for a second before he responded with a smirk of his own. "Tarry, rash wanton. Am I not your lord?".

"Then I must be your lady.", America said before breaking off his devotions to England's being to throw his head back in laughter and effectively ruining the strained mood and building tension. "Shit, I can't remember the rest.", America smiled, his tone unrepentant toward his abuse of a classic, "So, do you wanna dance with me or not?". America didn't really wait for an answer, already dragging his captive and former keeper to their destination.

England rolled his eyes but let himself be lead, his hand still being held in the American's own. "Not if you dance as well as you quote Shakespeare.", England snorted in disgust, "And please refrain from butchering the Queen's English while you are in my company. Act like a savage on your own time."

America smiled as he brought England's hand back up to his lips, flipping it over so that he could bite at the meat he found in the palm there. England flushed darkly, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly in response before the old nation could regain full control of himself. "I'll try to remember that, your royal highness.", was the last snide remark Gilbert heard before he lost interest, his scarlet eyes alighting upon Matthew.

The wallflower stole his attention fully, the Canadian sitting at a table by himself. He was feeding a plate of delicacies(and they were, the cooks for this affair were French) to the polar bear Gilbert had seen earlier in Matthew's arms. With no further announcement than a swift kick to the back of Matthew's chair just to make the nation jump, Gilbert slid into a seat next to him, grinning wolfishly at the startled blonde.

"Hallo Kanata. Long time, no see.", Gilbert greeted as he leaned into the Canadian's body so that their faces were only a few inches apart. To his delight, Matthew met his gaze levelly, his expression un-tinged by fear or revulsion instead of the twitching most other nations did in the Prussian's close presence.

"I haven't been Kanata for a while. It is Canada now.", Matthew corrected smoothly enough, resisting the urge to move away from the other nation. As thrilled as he was to be noticed, that didn't necessarily mean he wanted someone else invading his personal space. He also had no idea what to say to the other nation, having only met him once and not in the best of circumstances. "How have you been, Prussia? It has been a while.".

This close to each other, Matthew couldn't miss Gilbert's wince even if he had bothered to try and hide it. "It's Gilbert. Only my enemies get to call me Prussia.", Gilbert informed the other nation, edging even closer to Matthew. A memories from three centuries ago and one glimpse in a crowd did not do the Canadian justice. He was even more beautiful up close. Gilbert would have continued to admired him if not for a bear suddenly coming between them, the cub's head so swiftly there its skull almost clipped Gilbert's chin.

"I'm Kumajirou. Are you insane?', the bear asked. Gilbert found he had to sit back away from his prey, his lap suddenly quite full of white fur with paw bracing themselves on his chest.

"Maybe. Why do you ask, Bär?", Gilbert toyed with idea before discarding it. He had too many sharp looking teeth close to his face to fuck around with the unknown animal.

"You have a bird on your head. Most people don't. Gimme.", Kumajirou snapped, leaning up on Gilbert's torso so that he could sniff at the pile of feathers that was the little yellow bird in question. Gilbird woke up to find a whole lot of cold black nose smelling him in uncomfortable places. Having none of it, he promptly pecked the overly inquisitive bear on the nose causing Kumajirou to jerk back with a sneeze as he fell off of the Prussian's lap. Gilbert's signature laugh added insult to injure.

"Kesesesese. Serves you right sticking your nose where it wasn't wanted.", Gilbert snickered as Gilbird peeked out of silver locks to tweet inquiries down at the indignant bear. Both Prussian and bird make noises of surprise when cool hands brushed through spiky locks to pluck Gilbird from his odd perch.

"I didn't notice him last time. Who is this, eh?", Matthew smiled down at the bird in his hand who was puffing up his fluff in what he thought was a very threatening and impressive manner, ready to defend himself and his master.

"That is Gilbird, a powerful avatar of mine. One whose coming is feared throughout the world. His appearance is the foretelling of your doom and vital regions being claimed by me.", Gilbert deadpanned. He wasn't sure not to feel about Matthew holding his friend or if his scalp should tingle that much from just being touched.

"I can see that.", Matthew said solemnly as he put Gilbird up on his own head to see what it would feel like. Gilbert's crimson eyes narrowed to slits as he studied the Canadian's face for any signs that would say that he was less than serious but could find none. The next feeling he had to deal with was intense jealousy, directed at his own bird who was now smugly situated between silken lock of hair and did not look like he was going to move any time soon.

"You have met Kumocama now. He is more of a nuisance than anything. No where as useful or as important as an avatar or herald.", Matthew continued solemnly, reaching down to pick up the fallen bear. He deposited the grumpy animal in Gilbert's lap, the bear and nation taking a moment to appraise each other.

"I thought your name was Kumajirou.", Gilbert frowned down at his lap's occupant.

"Who told you that, snowflake?", Kumajirou snorted before turning his attention back to Matthew, "And I let you cuddle with me, you ungrateful beaver turd. See if you get any fluffy love tonight, hoser.".

"I am appalled by your language. I thought I trained you better than that, Kukuachoo.", Matthew chided lightly although Gilbert saw the corners of his lips turn up. The bear and nation were playing a game he was not aware or apart of.

"Who are you?", the bear shot back snidely. Having got in the last word, Kumajirou turned a circle in the Prussian's lap before settling down with his nose buried in his fur, falling asleep within a few minutes. Gilbert liked this turn of events even less. He couldn't get closer to Matthew like this but the baby bear in his lap was so cute with his soft little ears and soft little paws twitching in sleep. Gilbert glared down at Kumajirou, trying to hate the bear and failing to do so.

Matthew hummed softly in pleasure as he watched the Prussian. He considered himself an excellent judge of character having a lot of practice watching other people and listening in on their conversations(it wasn't his fault people treated him like a piece of furniture and acted like he had all the awareness of a chair). It helped that Francis had mentioned to him while very drunk that Gilbert had a pension for cute things. Matthew hadn't been sure it was real until now and that in itself made the Prussian endearing to him.

The slumbering bear tactic also kept Gilbert in one place so that Matthew could study him. The Prussian's manner and speech were distracting which was a pity. There was so much of Gilbert that deserved to be truly seen in Matthew's opinion.

Though he had been quite young at the time, Gilbert had left a definite impression upon the younger nation. His sudden appearance in Matthew's room during that stormy night had been frightening yet also quite thrilling, and though he had met many nations since then, Gilbert still stood out in Matthew's mind from their bizarre meeting.

Now that he was older, Matthew could really appreciate certain aspects of his strange company. If Matthew categorized Gilbert's looks in his mind, he would have to say the Prussian had all the stark beauty of a wildfire. Like his manner and way of speaking, Gilbert's face was sharp and defined. It had the overall look of a predator, an artic fox if Matthew had to be specific who whose eyes would shine back red light. Though not as tall as some nations, what the Prussian lacked in height he made up for in confidence, in attitude, in his presence a tangible, in-your-face thing.

Gilbert's hands alone were drawing in Matthew's attention in the most unusual ways. The skin of them were bone white and looked stretched too tight over their skeletal frame. Gilbert kept his nails longer then most men or simply did feel the need to peel or bite them off. The result was that his touch tended to click lightly upon surfaces, like talons seeking purchase. Looking mildly frustrated, Gilbert tapped out a melody of boredom on the table with his nails. The sound was doing interesting things to Matthew's body. He wanted those bony fingers to find a place on his bare skin, tearing furrows into it.

Stealing Gilbert's bird had satisfied more than one need. The spiky locks of silver had looked course to Matthew. He had been positive that he would have not liked their rough texture, expecting dry and brittle locks to rasp on skin when he passed his fingers through them. Gilbert didn't strike Matthew as someone who gave a damn about such things as manageable hair, something that had been impressed upon the Canadian at a very young age by Francis. Matthew had had to quickly reevaluate his impression about Gilbert though after the bird pilferage. The Prussian's hair had all the unique qualities of cat hair it would seem. It was fine but very thick and surprisingly soft to the touch. Matthew wanted to explore its moon shaded qualities more thoroughly between his fingers.

Matthew licked his too dry lips tentatively, knowing what he wanted but was unsure of how to proceed. Gilbert had simplified a lot of the busy work by finding Matthew and just basically presenting himself to Canadian, but by in doing so, had cut into Matthew's time for planning. Francis had been able to teach his 'son' a great many of things other than hair care and cooking before England had laid claim to him. Matthew wasn't stupid or naive enough to believe that Gilbert was seeking him out to just reminisce. It was all really a matter of comfort now and how far Matthew was willing to take or seek this. Gilbert had one hell of a reputation to contend with. Though a few of the rumors sounding too ridiculous to be real and/or physically possible, Matthew was hoping at least some of it were true.

Currently the object of his carnal affection was studying the dance floor, his crimson eyes full of open curiosity as he watched England and America dance together. Somehow, America was leading but just barely by the skin of his fingers. England was making him work for it with every turn and twirl. "So how did those two…", Gilbert let the obvious question hang midair. Matthew found he could forgive this type of distraction. Nations were as notorious as old women for gossip. Being a neighbor to one of the nations in question and an underling to the other made Matthew the perfect target for insider knowledge so really how could Gilbert resist asking.

"You remember the last war between them aboot four decades ago?", Matthew shrugged, checking Gilbert's knowledge so he wouldn't bore him with information he already knew.

"Ja. They are actually bothering to call that clusterfuck a war?", Gilbert snorted. In his opinion, wars should have definite losers and winners.

"I will remind you I was apart of that 'clusterfuck', thank you very much. Al tried to invade me so yes, it was a war.", Matthew huffed, though he had some similar opinions when it came to that confusing period in time.

"How did you get him to stop?", Gilbert asked. He couldn't see the Canadian being a participant on the battle field. Some nations just weren't made for it. Austria and Lichtenstein sprang to mind though in Lichtenstein's it was excusable. A being that cute should never be made to be covered in blood.

"I burned down his capital.", Matthew said flatly. Gilbert blinked back in surprise, searching the Canadian's face for any sign of humor or falsehood. There were none.

"Al was never one to take a hint.", Matthew continued in a dry tone after a moment, "Anyway, he saw the whole thing as one long love letter from England because he was still interested in retaking him as a colony."

"I don't get it.", Gilbert shook his head, "So let me get this straight, your idiot brother spent one whole war trying to get away from England and another one to get back with him.".

"In a way…..Yes and no. It's kinda sorta why the War of 1812 ended so…..so….", Matthew cast his words about trying to find something that fit adequately enough.

"Pathetically.", Gilbert supplied with a snort of disgust.

"Close enough.", Matthew sighed, "It did have its merits though. I proved to Al I can and will defend my own borders without hesitation, Al proved that he can stand up for himself as a nation against outside forces, and Arthur and Al patched things up between each other.".

"Looks like they did a lot more than that. Kesese.", Gilbert snickered, nodding over to the pair. Matthew managed to hold back his own amusement upon viewing America and England locking lips with one another as if they were the only two on the dance floor. Perhaps in their own minds, they were.

"Kirkland always was a greedy old man.", Gilbert chuckled, "It wouldn't surprise me if half of the reason he is with your brother is so that he can have the whole set.". Gilbert watched as Matthew grimaced, lending some truth to the Prussian's statement.

"They care aboot each other.", Matthew backpedaled charitably. He didn't want to be caught in between an angry brother and even angrier keeper if something got back to them.

"We all care about each other. You can't fight or fuck someone without some kind of emotion behind even if it just greed.", Gilbert waxed philosophical, at least for him.

"Don't you believe in love?", Matthew countered, surprising himself. He hadn't meant to ask that question.

Gilbert made a face, "You have spent too much time with Francis."

"Then you don't.", Matthew frowned, feeling hurt for some reason and knowing he really shouldn't.

"Nein, I just don't believe in the wino's bullshit version of perfection he makes it out to be. It doesn't exist.", Gilbert said, his tone full of disgust and even some contempt. It was one of those subjects that he and Francis had spent many a night arguing about over innumerable drinks until there was no more wine left(and that was saying something considering the wealth of Francis's wine cellars) and the sun was coming up to tell them it was the start of a brand new day. "I have seen love and all that it can do, what people are willing to do. I have seen cities razed to ash for it. I have witnessed oceans of blood spilled for it under one pretense or another. I have seen good men crumbled under its pressure and have seen worse men steal, torture, and kill for it. Love is one of the harshest mistresses in this world. I like to admire it from afar as I would anything I consider beautiful yet deadly."

Matthew grew very quiet and still, the blonde studying his hands which were trembling for some reason. He didn't know what he expected from Gilbert and even knew that he was being unfair to the albino in his silence. It wasn't Gilbert's fault that Matthew had meant so much more than what he was actually asking. If he was honest with himself, Matthew didn't even know the extent of it or why he had done it. It had just been a feeling….

Gilbert cursed at himself, Matthew refusing to look at him. He had gone too far and with basically a complete stranger, freely given out his harsh opinion to someone unused to him as if Matthew were a tried and true confidant. The Prussian was getting a bad feeling that he had missed something else as well. He just wasn't sure what it was and even worse, the world didn't give Gilbert a chance to rectify his mistake.

"What beastly things are you saying to Canada to make him look so distraught, Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert glared up at England, drawing his lips back in a snarl at the empire. England arched an impressive brow back at him to tell the Prussian just how unimpressed he was by it. "Mind your own business, Kirkland.", Gilbert snapped. He wondered where the hell America had gotten himself and why he wasn't being useful. Knowing him, the fat ass had probably gone off to feed him face.

"Canada is my business, you cheeky bugger.", England sniffed empirically, "Now mind your manners or you will be swimming back to your land. I am not playing rounders with you all night.".

"That's rich coming from you.", Gilbert growled out, really wishing that America would show up again and distract England so that he could focus on Matthew and mend whatever the hell he had inadvertently broken, "Mind my manners? Says the pirate.".

"Says the gentleman.", England correctly stiffly.

Gilbert grinned as he spotted a different blonde not to far off from them, one with wild hair and glittering cobalt eyes that were begging for a fight. Gilbert realized he would have to time this just right as a plan formed in his mind. "Who the fuck are you trying to bullshit here, Kirkland? I've come across things six months dead and buried that have had better hygiene than you after a year at sea. Smelled better too.", Gilbert challenged to see England's face flush, the shade of red on his cheek deepening as the Prussian continued, "Seaport hookers have cleaner mouths than you when you're drunk, you delusional old seadog. Hell, I've seen you drop trou and take a shit on….."

"Keep your voice down.", England hissed, reaching for the smirking Prussian and missing him as Gilbert dodged him at every attempt. The game of cat and mouse did draw the blonde he wanted nearer to them though, the nation drawn to conflict like a moth to a flame. England stopped when he realized how ridiculous he looked, the empire straightening up to start fixing his clothing with a resolute manner.

"Things change.", England said simply, as if his word were the end all be all. Gilbert thought it was time to remind the empire that he did not rule over the entire world and Prussians were no one's lackeys.

"Don't piss on my leg and tell me its raining, Kirkland. You and I both know you steal anything that's not nailed down or put a flag in it so that you can come back later to do it.", Gilbert scoffed openly, "That damn ruby on your throat has probably been pried out of a statue from some poor heathen bastard's temple."

"It was not stolen.", England fumed, his slender hands curling into fists despite his earlier resolve, "It was acquired.".

The taste of victory was so sweet, Gilbert bit his tongue to keep from reacting to it too earlier. England had only taken the bait. Now it was time to reel in the shark that was going to eat him. "Oh, is that what they are calling robbing other nations blind these days. I wasn't aware. I'll have to remember that when I talk to Denmark.", Gilbert could feel the hungry grin growing across his face, consuming it. "Well speak of the devil and he shall appear. Hey Danny! Get your ass over here and settle this! You ever used to 'acquire' goods and services?!".

England stiffened as the taller Nordic nation leaned over him bodily to grin back at the Prussian like two wolves greeting each other. The Dane picked up on the game easily enough.

"Hell no, but I did steal a lot of shit.", Denmark laughed, cuddling with a now enraged England, "And if I remember correctly, a lot of it was from you, Artur.".

And that was when things went severely downhill.

America decided to show up at that very moment to find England in another's embrace. Whether the empire was willing or unwilling(and looking murderous while doing it) was of little matter to the American who instantly saw red and little things like diplomacy, tact, and international incident suddenly became words for other nations.

To his amused surprise, Denmark found himself suddenly airborne. Old warrior that he was, Denmark landed with a roll a ways off, taking the brunt of the impact with his shoulder and was back on his feet in moments, a grin on his lips as a call for battle sang from his throat. Because old pacts made from bone and blood still held, the other Nordics appeared at his side as if by magic, following Denmark into the fray. America met them head on without pause or regard for his own safety, reckless young nation that he was. England couldn't let him do that by himself, the empire darting forward after him. Scotland and Ireland came out of the woodwork about then as well but in aid of whom was anyone's guess really. His plan set into motion, Gilbert was about to turn and grab Matthew so that the pair could make their escape unnoticed amid the chaos.

The Prussian found out that the best laid plans, even the ones made up on the fly, go awry. Before he could complete the next step of his awesome plan, Gilbert was jerked roughly back by his collar so he did the first thing that came to mind. The Prussian turned into the motion like the pro that he was, punching without looking at whoever was foolish enough to test him, the unfortunate nation going down like a sack of potatoes only to be replaced by another. This one was armed with a frying pan though this time and looked ready to beat Gilbert with the cooking implement within an inch of his life. Gilbert realized belated that the nation at his feet was Austria and the nation wanting to avenge him was Hungary.

"Fuck my life.", Gilbert sighed, as a skillet came whistling toward his head like the hand of God.

It wasn't until much later that the Prussian realized he had lost track of Matthew entirely.

Gilbert never did get to apologize.

It was something that weighed on his conscious for many years to come.


	3. Chapter 3

APH PruCan Timeless 3

I know I should get next to you  
You've got a look that made me think you're cool  
But it's just sexual attraction  
Not something real so I'd rather keep wackin'

Why bother? It's gonna hurt me  
It's gonna kill when you desert me  
This happened to me twice before  
Won't happen to me anymore  
-Weezer 'Why Bother'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Once upon a time during 1944, World War 2 in No Man's Land…  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The personification of Prussia in the pale flesh leaned back in a pew admiring some stained glass that had somehow managed to avoid destruction unlike so many of its neighboring brethren. Gilbert was currently resting his lanky frame in a burned out shell of a church, studying how stray shafts of light came in through the ruined memory of a roof, setting a different type of fire to the biblical stories caught in the fragile relief of glass.

From the style and coloration of the window art, Gilbert judged that it looked about late 1300th century, give or take a few decades or so. The large decorated window showed all the normal scene of damnation, deliverance, and everything in between but it truly became a source of amusement when Gilbert realized the subject matter was devoted to Saint Jude.

"Of course West would pick a place where the saint of lost causes keeps an eye on us.", Gilbert snorted, partially in disgust to himself as the Prussian broke line of sight with the window to rub his pale face with tired hands before resuming his vigil.

"Hey Jude, so what do you say? Feeling generous? I've got one hell of fuck up if you are.", Gilbert murmured to the flame engulfed image. He only answer back was silence from the floating moats of dust that moved in and out of the shafts of sharp light. The Prussian shrugged at the lack of divine intervention and went back to appraising his desolate surroundings of ruined splendor coated with ash and black filth. Damn shame about the rest of the glass. Gilbert had always had a fondness for such things, but it would seem that this war really was the one to end them all. What was a little broken glass in the face of such total annihilation and loss of life so flippant it was like casting pearls before swine?

Quick footstep beating out a rhythm that paused only for a swift turn on the heel for tempo was beginning to irritate Gilbert back into reality. "Would you calm the fuck down? Pacing a hole into the floor won't make them come any faster.", Gilbert sighed, looking over at his younger brother and fellow nation of Germany, Ludwig.

"They are late!", Ludwig snapped, his tense tone punctuating every word to preciseness. He was still ever the paragon of timeliness ,despite the war, despite their dire situation, despite everything. In a way, it was almost comforting while in others, it was simply maddening. To Gilbert's chagrin, the German only picking up his pacing instead of ending it as if the amount of steps he took would hasten their company's arrival sooner.

"They're probably lost.", Gilbert corrected, "One bombed out church looks a hell of a lot like the couple of other hundred bombed out structures in this shit hole.". The Prussian leaned back in his pew, shifting his body in it to get more comfortable, fully aware of Ludwig trying to incinerate him with a look and not giving a damn about it.

"That is not our problem. They are the ones who called for this meeting.", Ludwig sneered. Gilbert reflected that Ludwig should never make that kind of expression, his broad Aryan visage did not wear it well. Gilbert mused that Ludwig should really focus on portraying more placid emotions and leave sneers like that up to the professionals like himself. Gilbert proceeded to demonstrate his talent for the loaded expression, mirroring the sneer back at his younger brother to show him how it was done.

"Except you were the one who picked out the location, dummkopf. Even I don't know where we are anymore.", Gilbert pointed out. Borders were fuzzy vague things now thanks to the shifting lines of engagement. They were in the no man's land of Germany and France in what once must have been a rather picturesque village. It was kind of hard to tell now though when everything was painted in shades of smoke, ash, and lingering death.

"I am hardly going to let them set up an ambush in the place of their choosing. They are fortunate I agreed to meet with them at all.", Ludwig grunted dismissively. Trivial things like safely navigating through trenches, avoiding engagements with wandering rogue squads, and lack of functional roads were hardly his concern.

Gilbert regarded his younger siblings with a weary gaze. The German's attitude was beginning to wear on the Prussian. "Ja, your generosity knows no bounds. I am sure the Allies are counting their blessings.", Gilbert answered, closing his eyes with a sigh. "If you are smart, you will listen to what they have to say instead of just dismissing it."

"Losing your spirit?!", it sounded like Ludwig was chewing out the words in a rage. Gilbert viewed Ludwig through half slit eyes to find the German glooming over him with a murderous glare.

"Losing your mind?", Gilbert countered in an almost bored tone, "How much further are you really going to take this war? Mein Gott, it's over. Can't you see that? A lingering death has no honor in it and one made in denial only carries shame with it.".

True to form, Ludwig only heard what he wanted to, focusing solely on that. "It's not over! We can still win!", Ludwig yelled with real conviction of a zealot behind them. Gilbert had heard this all before so his answering look was level and cool instead of one in disbelief. It was enough to make the German pause in his rant, "What, bruder?".

"We are all a little too old and a little too fucked to start believing in miracles now, West.", Gilbert said dryly, bending his head as if in prayer but in reality to light a cigarette with a handsome silver lighter. He had taken both off of a dead man and it felt sacrilegious to let them go to waste in this place. Ludwig's outpour of answering rage was again cut short as two blondes entered the church rather noisily…..at least on one of their parts, the younger of the twins kicking in the church's doors with unnecessary force considering the portal's gates were just resting on its hinges.

"The hero has arrived!", the blue eyed blonde with the stubborn cowlick yelled, America instantly recognizable by his brown bomber jacket with the number fifty embossed on the back of it. He wore his regular khaki uniform and knee high army boots though the pair of Colts M1911 in his hands and aimed at the European's heads were a new addition.

Gilbert looked casually over his shoulder at the American, ignoring the firearms. "You took your sweet time getting in this war, Jones. I was beginning to think that your fat ass would never make it here in time for this shit show.".

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck you too, Beilschmidt.", Alfred F. Jones, the personification of the United States of America, greeted good naturedly back, "Better late than never.".

"Kesesese. Keep telling yourself that.", Gilbert chuckled, letting a slow grin split his face, "What? Kirkland not putting out enough for you so you didn't feel the need to come running like the little bitch boy we all know you are?".

"He's been a little too busy thanks to you cock blocks but I suspect you know all about that.", Alfred began to smirk, "Anyway he was doing just fine on his own giving you boys the middle finger."

"You know each other?!", Ludwig spat out, having finally found his tongue again, much to Gilbert's annoyance. America was always fun to talk shop with and the young nation could be rather quick witted when he wanted to be. Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert noticed the German's hand edging toward his hidden weapons. The albino stifled a sigh of aggravation.

"Well ja, obviously, little bruder. I taught this fat fuck everything he knows about fighting. Ain't that right, Jones?", Gilbert grinned lazily in the face of Ludwig's bewilderment, "Don't do anything stupid, West. He's not going to fire his toys.".

"I don't know about that. I picked up a few new tricks along the way and fought a few wars without you.", Alfred grinned, the expression all sharp teeth and barely contained violence now, "And I will shoot you if you don't stop going for that gun I know you've got somewhere on your back or in your belt, Kraut." .

"I'm shaking in my boots.", Gilbert said dryly, rolling his eyes as he looked past Alfred at his real interest, "Hallo Matthew."

Alfred looked behind himself in surprise, having either forgotten the Canadian's existence or the fact that Gilbert had just addressed his twin so casually by his first name. Ludwig looked about ready to have a fit. "And you know….", Ludwig started to say but soon seemed to be a loss of word on how to address the other nation.

"I'm Canada.", Matthew sighed, smiling at his unique lot in life that affected him even in the direst of times, "Alfred, put the guns away. We are here for peace talks, not a shootout.".

"Tell the krauts that.", Alfred growled, his fake grin finally dropping off of his face. Gilbert decided the American looked a lot better when he smiled. With his azure eyes that cold and hard set, and his mouth set in a thin grim line, Alfred was starting to look truly frightening, like the natural born killer he was, that all nations were. It had just taken longer for America to get in touch with his fate, the fate of all nations. It was a too rare event to witness, a nation coming into his own. It left Gilbert feeling a little sick when at one time he would have encouraged it with blade and bone.

Shaking his head clear of such thoughts, Gilbert saw he would have to show some initiative if he wanted to make any sort of headway to reach his goals in this meeting. "West, I will personally put a bullet in both of your kneecaps and leave them there if you fire upon our guests. Where are your manners, Arschloch? These nations are our honored guests.", Gilbert said the threat lightly, ignoring Ludwig's gape to turn back to the Allies, "Happy?"

"Your word to keep the peace, Beilschmidt.", Alfred's eyes narrowed warily even as Gilbert nodded approval at the demand. The other nations really didn't give the American enough credit. When nations hit the five hundred year mark, they tended to lose sight of such things though, mistaking inexperience and naivety for stupidity. Such underestimations could be devastating. They could even lose you wars. It had certainly cost the Axis this one.

They had thought America was lazy and stupid, a spoiled child playing soldier while keeping to his side of the sea. With a sting to the foot, they had awoken a wrathful giant from his stupor, angry and vengeful.

They had thought England was bloated and decrepit, an empire turning corpse. They tried to bury him under fire. All they did was unearth a soul forged with iron and a will of bladed steel.

They had thought France decadent and weak. Passive smiles and scraping bows had only been a front, hiding an enduring slyness that backstabbed them at every turn now as a revolution moved beneath their feet in the heart of Paris.

They had thought Russia too mad to care. To their folly, they mistook insanity for idiocy like so many others. In his quiet patience, Russia had let them make the same mistake of so many other would be conquerors had before to let them freeze to death.

They had thought China was too old to care or defend itself. They had forgotten that a nation who had seen the rise and fall of empires could hold grudges longer than most civilizations could survive and some of those grudges went deeper than flesh or blood or even bone. They had stirred a dragon from its cave.

So many mistakes in such a short time. It was truly staggering if Gilbert let himself think about it, but someone had to. Ludwig certainly was not.

Gilbert realized that the other were now staring at him, still waiting for his answer. "My word as a nation.", Gilbert heard himself say softly.

Alfred nodded back, holstering his firearms, his eyes still on the German's hands. Gilbert tried not to feel too insulted about the American's inattention to him or dismissal as a threat. He could feel Matthew's gaze studying his pale features so Gilbert could live with it. He turned into the view of the stare to meet tanzanite eyes with his own garnet.

"Come sit with me, Matthew. It has been a while since have we last talked and I feel like we did not leave on the best of terms last time.", Gilbert said, beckoning the Canadian over with a wave of his hand.

"We are here to discuss the conditions of their surrender, not socialize.", Ludwig reminded with a growl, somehow keeping a straight face as he uttered impossible words. A glance at their guests' incredulous expressions told Gilbert that the German's statement was as mad as it had actually sounded. Gilbert hid a sigh at Ludwig for so openly giving away what he would have liked to have kept a secret from the Allies. The confirmation of Ludwig's madness would only make matters worse for them in the end.

"There is no reason we can not be pleasant about this though and act like civilized nations. You and Herr Jones will discuss the terms of their imminent surrender and I will speak with Canada on the division of their lands. We will get more done that way.", Gilbert said calmly, barely able to keep the dripping sarcasm out of his voice. He didn't think Ludwig would be able to recognize it even if he hadn't bothered, but Gilbert refused to take any chances. This meeting might be the only opportunity he got to speak with Matthew for a long while.

Turning to the side slightly to block the German's view of him, Alfred shot Gilbert a question with barely a flick of his head toward Ludwig. Gilbert answered back with only his eyes, looking to his younger brother and then away and up to Saint Jude who watched them all through his panes of stained glass. Alfred showed his understanding with the slightest of nods though his eyes remained curious.

Under Ludwig's directions, he and Alfred moved to what must have been the church's alter, the marble now stripped of all its sacraments by the greedy or the desperate. Ludwig used it dismissively to cover the altar's surface in maps and proposals for the American to read. Gilbert estimated he had about ten minutes, fifteen at the most, before Alfred ran out of patience and pity to lose his temper with the entire situation.

Gilbert dismissed their presences in an instant as Matthew slipped into the pew beside him. The Prussian allowed himself to study his companion openly, letting the other know that he was being admired by him. Matthew was dressed in a stained uniform like all of them, one that might have been a light tan or khaki in a former life before the existence of mud, ash, powder burns, and dried blood. Gilbert could admit to himself now that his earlier impressions from almost a century ago of the Canadian on the battlefield where wrong. Matthew and his people hunted their enemies with the strength of tigers, the trickery of wolves, and the movements of ghosts. They fought with a ferocity coupled with an intelligence that was truly frightening. Gilbert was truly impressed in the face of such prowess and could only fault himself for misjudging the quiet nation of Canada.

"Where's Kuma?", Gilbert asked, breaking the silence that had lapsed between them. Gilbert was pleased to note that Matthew had done more than his fair share of looking back.

"Scouting the perimeter.", Matthew shrugged though his eyes never left Gilbert, his gaze only traveling upward to study spiky silver locks of hair. "Where's Gilbird?"

"I don't take him out into the field. Snipers get too cute with bright colors and head wounds are a real bitch to heal.", Gilbert said flatly with a grimace. God, sometimes he really missed the simplicity of swords. To him at times, it seemed so wrong that such a small fragment of metal could end life without the victim even having the mild satisfaction of knowing his killer's face. Being robbed of life from a distant point so far out of sight just added insult to injury. Sometimes Gilbert thought that men should not have such power. It cheapened life to mere numbers when this sort of war happened.

"You are doing it again.", Matthew's voice cut through the Prussian's mental shit.

"Mmm. Doing what?", Gilbert asked because it was something to say.

"Zoning out. Are you alright?", Matthew ventured in a polite tone. Gilbert looked over at him in more than a little surprise to only find real sincerity on the Canadian's part. It was the last emotion that Gilbert would ever expect to see on a face asking him that question, much less an enemy's.

"Ja. I'm awesome.", the words came out raw, having caught on the edges of his throat painfully, "Mein bruder is delusional, our allies are useless, and we are as close to damnation as we can be without actually stepping foot into hell.". Gilbert tried smiling to help alleviate the impact of his words but the expression was worn brittle on his lips. "So, how have you been? Been anywhere interesting lately?".

Matthew dropped his eyes to lock on the intricacies of his clenched hands. "I'm sorey. It was a stupid question.".

"Ja. It was but it's fine. I don't give flying fuck about that.", Gilbert said quickly, cursing at himself for being short tempered, for being so tired, for being himself, "Please, please, just look at me and not ever away.". He was begging, Gilbert could hear it in his voice and didn't care. Their time together was so short and this setting for it was all wrong but it was all they had.

Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief when Matthew looked back up, those twilight eyes were still as brilliant as the first time Gilbert ever saw them illuminated by candlelight and the white hot blaze of storms. The Prussian reached over, Matthew letting his pale touch graze the Canadian's cheeks with long, bone white fingers, touching his facial features lightly, almost reverently.

"I have thought about you for so long. I know I said something to piss you off or dismiss me or think less of me the last time we talked and I am sorry for that, more so than you will probably ever know. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my mouth shut and just let you talk a while longer. I'm sorry my stupid pride didn't let me come find you until it was far too late. I am sorry I was too stupid to send you a letter or make a phone call. I'm sorry I am not better at making apologies but you see, I don't usually bother with them. I never saw the point of them until now, until I realized I missed you. It seems I am always missing you in one way or another….", the words tumbled off his lips one after the other in rapid succession. Gilbert only stopped because he ran out of breath, that and would have started to repeat himself. He lit a cigarette to distract himself or at least tried to. His hands were shaking too much to work the finer mechanisms of the lighter though.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the worst timing?", Matthew murmured, reaching over to help the Prussian, offering his own light to him. Gilbert couldn't help it as he looked over at Matthew partially in confusion. He would have never pegged Matthew as a smoker or that he could be so flippant. Gilbert just laughed in answer until his sides hurt and he doubled himself over his knees. Gilbert was left gasping at his own conclusions and the perplexities of life in general.

"Ja, plenty of times. Mostly by Francis.", Gilbert managed to rasp out as he sat up again.

"May I ask you a question?", Matthew sounded hesitant.

"You already did.", Gilbert pointed out, "Go for broke, but make it a good one. Our time is growing short by the looks of it.". He and Matthew glanced over as one to the other nations arguing in the room, Ludwig looked far too superior for anyone's good and Alfred appeared to be wearing down the enamel of his back teeth.

Matthew tortured his bottom lip between his teeth, distracting the Prussian for a moment with their loveliness as he imagined the points of porcelain being used on his skin to redden it before taking him up on his offer. "Do you believe in love?", Matthew asked Gilbert again after nearly a century apart.

It was the question that had weighed considerably on Gilbert's mind since that fateful ball though he would never admit it any other. "Ja, Nein, Maybe? I think so. I don't know. What answer won't make you hate me?", Gilbert answered glibly as stray nervous bits of laughter emerged from his lips.

"I don't hate you.", Matthew sighed, looking more worn out than crestfallen upon hearing the honest if not confusing answer, "I just wish we had more time….."

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds especially for us? For what we are? Time is what we should have the most of.", Gilbert felt close to shattering…his pride, his sanity, his very being….especially if he kept letting himself laugh on and off like this. He focused on sucking all of the nicotine he could out of his cigarette instead. It left his mouth, throat, and lungs burned and burning but it was better than breaking down.

"We will have our moment. This is just not it.", Matthew soothed, his hand finding Gilbert's shoulders to start stroking the curved planes of it. Gilbert leaned into the touch, not caring if it made him look weak. The touch was warm and welcomed from the one he most truly desired in this world of endless existence. Enough so that Gilbert threw caution and circumstance to the wind.

"Will you kiss me or let me kiss you? I've wanted to kiss you since the mid 1800's.", Gilbert said quietly. A quick look confirmed that Ludwig and Alfred were too busy arguing with one another to notice the pair of star crossed nations. Gilbert doubted that either combatant would so much as spare a glance upward from the maps even if a firefight were to break out right now. Matthew's natural invisibility and Gilbert's close proximity to him might have helped in hiding them as well.

Gilbert turned back to get Matthew's answer, not knowing what to expect but soon found cool lips pressed to his own as a hard hand dug into the silver locks of his hair to keep his head firmly in place. The kiss was an assault, pressing Gilbert's lips into his teeth sharply enough to bruise and make them bleed. Gilbert felt himself being moved bodily with the Canadian's other arm, the Prussian ending up in Matthew's lap.

From then on, it was a hungry, merciless meeting of flesh as two nations fought each other in the most intimate of ways. When Matthew's tongue started to lap at the edges of his mouth, Gilbert parted his lips. He surrendered a piece of himself to Matthew who took him up on the offer, invading the nation of Prussia. Gilbert found Matthew's tongue slick and oddly sweet as it traveled over his teeth and palette. He was being tasted and memorized, the organ enticing his own to respond with teasing flicks.

Gilbert wanted so much in this moment. He wanted to weep, loud and open like he had never been allowed to by others around him and his own pride. He wanted to be held and held down by the other nation he was locking lips with, letting Matthew invade him and use his body any way that he wanted to. He wished to rest his lean frame against the more solid one holding him in place right now, and never move again. He wanted to tear, cut, slice, shred Matthew's uniform from his body and ruin the perfection of all the skin he found underneath it, marking it with his own bite marks, scratches, and bruises. He wanted to fuck, be fucked, to use, and be used until he felt deliciously empty and all too full at the same time.

This one precious moment of heat, touch, and friction between them was too perfect to ever really last. Such things are not meant to stay in the world but for an instant.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

Groaning into Matthew's mouth, Gilbert parted from him regretfully to glare up into the enraged face of his kin, Ludwig breathing out heat and blood across his skin and into the air like a smith's billow. Alfred stood not too far off from them as well, the look on his face unfathomable as he stared down his twin. Matthew returned the look in full with his own.

"I am mapping out his borders.", Gilbert snorted, not moving an inch from Matthew's lap, "What the hell does it look like, dummkomp?". He was hyperaware of Matthew's hands still upon him, one resting on his shoulder, the other gripping the side of his waist. Gilbert's own were still buried in the depths of Matthew's long blonde hair.

"Now I see why you wanted to come with me so badly. And here I thought it was to keep me and Artie from screwing….*dry cough*…messing up the mission.", Alfred said in a flat tone.

"It's not always aboot you, Al.", Matthew sighed. He moved Gilbert off of him though the Prussian noticed that his touch was gentle and lingered longer than it should have, considering the circumstances.

"I think it is best if you two left now. I do not think we will being brokering any sort of surrender today.", Ludwig growled out through clenched teeth, his ice blue eyes like frozen pinpoints of rage upon Gilbert. The Prussian met the gaze with a lazy smile that turned vicious toward the end.

"I don't know about that, West. The way I see it, I am ahead of you there. Now if you would only give me time to pound out some of the more pressing details with Matthew, I'm sure we could come up with a position of submission that pleases us both.", Gilbert needled, putting just the right amount of inflection on certain words to make Ludwig twitch and Alfred scowl.

"And they call me stupid.", Alfred said sullenly, his too blue brooding eyes still only for Matthew as he continued to ignore the Prussian's presence. "At least, I have the good sense not to make an enemy my fuck buddy.".

Ignoring his twin and seething German, Matthew rose from the pew with a stiff grace to go stand beside Alfred. "You only show off your ignorance speaking of things you knowing nothing aboot.", Matthew said softly to his American counterpart before turning back to face the Axis nations, though he only addressed Gilbert.

"Au revoir, Gilbert. I hope to see you again when this war is done so that we can have our moment.", Matthew said with a slight smile, sad yet hopeful.

"You have my word as a Prussian that we will. Until we meet again, Auf Wiedersehen, Matthew.", Gilbert nodded back with a solemn dip of his silver head, pointedly ignoring Ludwig's angry sputtering. His eyes never left Matthew's form as the twins exited the church the way that they had entered, Matthew walking ahead of his brother. Alfred was the only one who looked back, much to Gilbert's disappointment, to glare blue odium at Gilbert. The Prussian felt an unfamiliar chill run down his spine from look, feeling oddly relieved as the other pair of nations left his sight and presence. He would have to keep an eye out for Alfred. Something about that look did not sit well with him and nations were famous for holding grudges. France and England were stunning examples of this.

Gilbert set this thought on the back burner of his mind as he dodged the blow Ludwig had aimed at his head. Reacting without even really thinking about it, Gilbert lunged forward low and quick to drive the point of his elbow into Ludwig's stomach. The German was further persuaded to drop like a sack of potatoes when Gilbert pressed his advantage by connecting his boot to the side of Ludwig's knee, the joint making a deliciously wet crunching sound to Gilbert's ears. To his credit, Ludwig did not scream, only grunting in pain as he hit the ground.

"Do you want to continue this, West? I will be more than willing to keep teaching you your lesson. I find myself in need of a distraction.", Gilbert leaned back against the pew's rail to light another cigarette as he regarded the German. So far the idiot had not tried to up the ante by going for any of his weapons. They might be family, but that would not stay Gilbert's hand or make his knife hesitate for a second as it carved a reminder into his brother's skin that the Prussian was not one to be trifled with.

"Nein, but…", Ludwig breathed out, his voice only a touch shaky as he made himself sit up to examine the damage to his body. Gilbert nodded back, feeling somewhat proud that Ludwig remembered his training to keep moving. It was Gilbert's opinion and observation that a nation's injury could heal back stiff if they allowed themselves to rest or lay down. Being machines of war meant that they had to keep moving.

"I am not going to discuss or explain my relationship with Matthew to you. In fact, you are never ask me about him ever again after this moment or else I will become very irate with you and we will have to revisit this lesson more thoroughly. Considering that I put up with you fucking your useless Italian ally even more senseless than he already is every chance you get, I believe this is not too much to ask. Am I making myself clear enough for you, dear bruder, or would you like me to kick your teeth in as a reminder? Molars are a real bitch to grow back.", Gilbert's voice was soft but held an unmistakably edge to it that cut through air. Ludwig tried to draw away from the Prussian only to cry out as a boot heel was grounded down into his still healing knee, Gilbert looming over him as he held the German in place by that contact alone.

Gilbert waited until he saw Ludwig cave fully, the German hanging his head as he nodded acquiescence to the Prussian's order. "Not that I care, but what were you and Jones arguing about before you two so rudely interrupting my time with Birdie?". Gilbert asked, stepping off of Ludwig to reclaim his seat in the pew. He blew smoke rings at St. Jude to amuse himself, not really caring if the German answered him or not.

"He was mocking our empire.", He heard Ludwig mumble.

"What empire?", Gilbert muttered.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Promises were kept but not in a way either nation could have foreseen. Gilbert saw Matthew one more time immediately after the war but once again in a setting that was not favorable for their moment.

When wars ended, a decision had to be made about the avatars of the losing nation or nations involved by the victors. Defeated nations could be forced to live in their conqueror's home, serving their new masters as slaves or henchmen, or depending on who it was, their bedmates and playthings. Romano and Feliciano were probably the two most well versed nations of this practice, passed around from conqueror to conqueror for centuries, though during the course of history, many a nation had fallen from grace into the another's control at some point in time.

In Gilbert's opinion, it was nothing to be ashamed about. He considered this concept now as he sat with Ludwig, Roderich, and Elizabeta in a room somewhere in France. From the décor it was more than likely one of Francis's many villas, the old wino rubbing it in the German's faces that they had missed one of his houses. Bored out of his mind, Gilbert amused himself by ruining the convenient edge of a Persian rug by digging his boot heel into it. Francis had probably stolen it anyway, along with the rest of the art hanging up on the walls. With exception to the sounds of an priceless antique being destroyed, the room was silent, the other nations around Gilbert looked pale and wan as they vacantly stared off into nothing. It was really starting to irritate him.

"Heilige Scheiße, snap out of it! It's not like we haven't all been here before!", Gilbert growled, shattering the doomed sense of silence in the room.

"Ja, but bruder….", Ludwig began, cutting himself off as Gilbert jumped up to pace.

"But nothing! They probably just send us all home like last time. Worst case scenario, we will be in debt to them for the next century or we will have to go live with England and be forced to eat his cooking. If you ask me, the Italians showed their first real sign of intelligence by jumping ship as early as they did to avoid that.", Gilbert spat out, watching as Ludwig visibly cringed at the reminder of his former ally and lover's abandonment.

In his opinion, Ludwig had only himself to blame. His sanity was beginning to assert itself again now that some political dogma had been cleared up and his boss was dead. He was probably starting to remember what he had done to scare Feliciano off into running straight to his brother Romano to beg for their surrender to the Allies. Gilbert knew it would haunt Ludwig for a long time even if the stubborn German wasn't willing to admit it. Gilbert hoped that the petite Italian would forgive his stupid, romantically handicapped brother one day and come wandering back into his existence. Feliciano had been good for Ludwig. West was too uptight without the Italian hanging off of his neck.

"You could attempt to grasp the gravity of this situation, Gilbert.", Roderich said crisply, the pianist pale as he clutched at his teacup like it was a lifeline. Elizabeta held his other hand, looking scared but still fiercely protective as she glared over at Gilbert.

"Why? Will it change anything?", Gilbert shrugged with a too wide grin as he pantomimed greeting empty spaces, "Oh Herr Kirkland, I am so sorry for bombing the hell out of you night after night. How's the chest? Still coughing up blood every morning? And Herr Jones, so nice to see you again. You thought we had forgotten about you, didn't you? Tsk, tsk liebling. You wanted to stay on your side of the ocean but we just missed you too much. Have you buried all of your victorious dead yet? Ah Francis, old friend…"

"Stop it!", Elizabeta hissed, releasing Roderich's hand so that she could stand toe to toe with the Prussian who looked down at her in amusement.

"You still have not answered my question though. Why, Fräulein? Why should I? Do my words bother you? Can you tell me if anything I say or do matters now? Kesesese!", Gilbert's laughter was cut off by a sharp slap to his face, Elizabeta's eyes blazing as she delivered the blow. Gilbert licked at the tickle of blood that escaped from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip split.

"You still hit like a girl.", Gilbert snorted. His expression grew solemn though as he looked down at one of his oldest friends, Elizabeta's shoulders beginning to shake as she stared back up at the Prussian with wide eyes.

"Do you really think that they will just send us all home?", Elizabeta said softly, her hands darting up to wipe at the corners of her eyes. Gilbert sighed heavily, leaning forward enough so that their foreheads touched.

"Oh Lizzie….."

"If you are quite done, we are ready for you now.", said a polished, crisp voice that was unmistakably English, the old Celtic nation glared at them at he leaned in the doorway, his malice in full view through half lidded emerald eyes for all to see.

"Never let them know that you're scared.", Gilbert whispered soft enough so that only Elizabeta could hear as he kissed the tip of the Hungarian's nose. He turned to England to grace the nations with a wide Cheshire cat grin.

"What took you so damn long? I've been looking forward to this Scheiße  
all day.", Gilbert said as he tipped an imaginary cap to the empire in decline. England just smiled weirdly back at him, the twist of lips triumphant yet still feral in its hunger. Gilbert ignored England the rest of the way, choosing to walk ahead of the rest as they entered a large rounded room, still opulent in the overdone style of Baroque full of oil paintings, useless ornaments of statues and knick knacks, and gilded furniture.

Gilbert whistled low, "You held out on us, Frannie."

"Non. You were just not as thorough as you thought you had been, mon ami.", France said idly as he swirled the wine in his glass, not deigning to look at the Prussian. Not getting anything from the French nation, Gilbert continued to look around the room.

America was there as well, sitting dead center at the single table in the room, the rest of the allies on either side of him. He looked older than Gilbert had ever seen him. He also burned the brightest out of all the nations here. A crown was being passed to him. Gilbert wondered if the young nation even realized it yet.

England took the empty seat next to America, the old nation still elegant and posed despite all that had been done to him and taken away from him. France lounged in his chair but not even that hid his still healing wounds. Russia and China sat slightly apart from the rest, the pair the most foreign of the Allies and the only real unknown factor in the room. Gilbert had centuries of experience with fucking and fighting with England and Francis, and even a fair amount of contact with America considering the nation had been an Isolationist, so he had a pretty good idea what to expect from them. China's young face was an unreadable blank, the ancient nation gazing dully at the Prussian, and for all appearances looking bored and mildly put out. His counterpart was another matter entirely. Though their encounters had always been few and far between, Gilbert had never liked the tall cold nation of Russia who always smiled his weird little smile at the Prussian, like he knew something that Gilbert did not. The Prussian had never been fond of surprises.

Gilbert finally found what he was really looking for the entire time. The Prussian's scarlet eyes found Matthew's form all the way in the back of the room, the Canadian standing separately from the rest, the outline of his body almost completely hidden by the shadows of the corner he inhabited. Matthew clutched at his polar bear with tight arms and stared down at the floor, his lovely blonde hair nearly obscuring his face entirely. It took a moment for Gilbert to realize that he was crying.

"Since you seem so happy to be here and all, let us begin with you, Prussia.", Arthur grinned a skeleton's grimace with all teeth and malice, his voice holding coiling notes of poisoned glee in it, too sweet, too sharp, and a touch bitter. "We are shipping your pale arse off with Russia. I recommend packing something warm to wear. Cheers."

Gilbert understood all too well now the presence of Matthew's tears as the tall nation rose from his seat to claim the stunned Prussian.

"You are ready to become one, da?"

Scheiße.


	4. Chapter 4

APH PruCan Timeless 4 Part 1

And on my death bed  
I will prey  
to the gods and the angels  
like a pagan  
to anyone who will take me to heaven  
to a place  
i would recall  
i was there so long ago  
the sky was bruised  
the world was black  
and there you led me on.

-Audioslave 'Like A Stone'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Once upon a time somewhere in Russia very near the end of Cold War in 1988...  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Lithuania was beaten. His back rained blood down his arms and legs in rivulets as his skin was torn into hanging strips of flesh. There were walls and floorboards still stained with the spray of his blood.

Latvia was hidden. He was locked into a small space and left here in the dark to cry. The walls in small, dark places were scoured with the marks of fingernails furrowed into the drywall. The sick, coiling air of panicked fear and gripping sadness still hung in the air to be tasted by visitors who mistook a seemingly random closet for an entryway.

Estonia was mind fucked. He was given impossible tasks to accomplish in too short a time period. The most common of these was for him to pick out black rice and wild peas from a measure of grain because Russia could be sentimental at times and truly loved a classic. Being damned if he did and damned if he didn't, all Eduard had to look forward to was mild stay in punishment until then.

For Gilbert…Gilbert had his own special room. It was under Russia's house, a hole in the ground that was probably there even before there was a house. A hollow space of earth, an natural oubliette of frozen walls and heavy still darkness.

Prussia was forgotten.

In his room, Gilbert discovered a type of cold he had never known before or even knew existed. It was a feeling beyond pain- deep, wide, and more vivid in color than the normal perceptions of the sensation. It was a cold where he could feel parts of his body dying nerve by nerve, cell by cell as his skin and flesh froze to the floor. Gilbert only started to scream from this sort of pain when they broke off.

Usually it was his fingers and toes first, the tiny extremities more susceptible to the elements but not limited to them. After the one time that it had been his entire foot, cracking off at the ankle in an odd ripping sound of dried meat, Gilbert had learned to stop moving around in his confinement. Curling up into a corner did not make it any better but when someone did bother to come down for him at least they knew where to look for him.

More often than not, it was Lithuania, the nation really too kind for his own good. It only gave Russia another reason to punish him. Sometimes it was Ukraine, the well endowed blonde also having a soft spot in her heart but having much less to fear from her brother.

Gilbert did not know whether to love them for it or hate them. All it did was restart the cycle of the hot and cold hell that was now his life. The Prussian would lay in bed healing, sometimes for weeks afterward as his nerves caught fire and his body tried to rebuild itself. The process was agonizing as circulation resumed to withered necrotic body parts, making the dead flesh sing hotly and sear with refreshed life.

Sometimes he was given enough time to heal fully but most of the time not. Russia would just throw him back into the pit after he had thawed out enough to be whole.

In a way, Gilbert reflected to himself, it was his own fault. He refused to give Russia anything that he wanted of him-his time, his attention, his body. Any effort on the Russian's part to take any of the three from the Prussian was met with total indifference, Gilbert shutting down as if nothing was around him or happening to him, deeming beneath his attentions. Russia's answering punishment reflected this after he found out that blood play and Gilbert's high tolerance for pain did not give him what he wanted from the Prussian. The large nation decided that if Gilbert was going to ignore Russia, then Russia was going to ignore him back. He was just going to make damn sure that Gilbert was suffering in every sense of the word while he did.

Starvation and isolation became Gilbert's cellmates. He need them well after almost thirty years. Gilbert accepted their company as they would old friends, finding reprieve in their narrow, sharp advances.

After a while, Gilbert lost track of time completely. He spent his days and nights in the frigid dark, mostly and mercifully unconscious, so there was really no need for that commodity. Gilbert knew things were happening elsewhere. He wasn't so naïve or self involved to think that the world would simply stop moving without him in it.

The last time Gilbert really bothered to take note of time was several years after he had been brought to Russia. Gilbert had been let out of his room long enough to be told by a grinning Russian that his country had been abolished.

Gilbert was grateful for the darkness after that and stop fearing after that moment. He left it roll over him like the softest velvet, his gentle opaque lover allowing him to escape in so ways if not others. Russia could only follow his so far. His grip upon the Prussian was not all encompassing.

In the comforting dark, in the burning cold, in the hole under Russia's house, Gilbert moved past fear.

He moved past life and the consciousness that came from it.

The absolved nation of Prussia dreamed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
"Save me.", stiff lips whispered to the artificial night, blue from kiss of cold and crimson from cracked skin bleeding out into frozen shards. "I'm lost."  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was cold even in his dreams or what he thought were dreams. He wasn't sure anymore about that. Some of them felt too real to just be all figments and shadows of a breaking mind.

This one was different though.

Gilbert could smell the all too familiar bite of winter in the air, one that made his nose tingle and his lung burn if he inhaled too deeply. Watery light weakly created more shadows than illumination, coloring the world about him in cooler shades of lavender and soft blues than he would have liked. Gilbert could actually feel tell crust on the surface of the snow crackle and give beneath his feet, all four of them.

Wait…what?

Gilbert sat back on his haunches(he had haunches now?) to look quizzing at a paw he seemed to have now being held up in front of his face. The pads of it were bright pink, the fur in and around it white as down and looked as about as soft. Twisting his head around with a surprising amount of new flexibility, Gilbert confirmed his growing suspicions that he was, in fact, a cat with a sleek, short haired pelt the color of new frost.

Puzzled with this precarious turn in life, Gilbert would have spent more time contemplated this dream twist further but the scent of wood burning made his nose(which was small and pink too he was sure) twitch. Inborn curiosity driving natural instincts, Gilbert followed the allure of burning cedar, using his new heightened senses to track and the natural abilities of any feline to navigate around deep snowdrifts. He entered a dark wood without hesitation, hot in pursuit on the trial of warmth.

The woods, Gilbert noted in his swift passing, were stripped naked for the season of ice, their starved slender forms tall and black as pitch in the loveliness of their bare bark. Multiple arms reached up high to entangle with each other, holding fast against the harshness of the winter's touch. The wood mingled together for the warmth of flora and to remind themselves that no single tree was ever made to suffer alone.

Gilbert ignored the wood's trial in life to seek out the source of the smoke. Fire and thus warmth were surely at the end of it and that was the only thing that the Prussian cared about.

In a space of forest that would have been too generous to call a clearing, a campfire burned brightly against the shadows that lived in this space. It was attended by one whose sole company was an elk, the animal seeming to stand sentinel over him. The still animal's breathe came out in patient steady puffs of misty air as the large animal regarded the white cat slinking by it with moist dark eyes.

The figure hovering over the welfare of the fire was lean and fine boned, his hands long and graceful though his face was still hidden in the flickering dance of firelight and the hood of his heavy cloak. He wore old clothes in a style Gilbert had not seen in long centuries. The man's tunic was woven out of homespun and dyed blue from the petals of flowers, his leggings and boots made of white deer hide, and his cloak was the silver fur taken off the back of a great wolf.

Gilbert walked over to sit beside the being and wondered if he could still actually speak or would just meow. Gilbert decided it didn't really matter considering it was his dream and at least a dream so the normal rules didn't apply. When the stranger turned to acknowledge his presence, the movement of the light revealed the dull blue eyes and the feathery blonde hair with its peculiar curl of Norway. Gilbert couldn't bring himself to feel any actual real surprise. This dream seemed to fit the quiet Nord far more than it did Gilbert. In the Prussian's dreams, it was warm for one thing and he wasn't ever an animal for another.

"Hallo Norge. Can you tell me why I am a cat? Or where I am for that matter?", Gilbert asked flat out. He saw no reason to beat around the bush about it or attempt small talk. Gilbert had never considered Norway to be that interesting, especially when there were far more interesting countries like Denmark to go out drinking with and raise all kinds of hell.

"Perhaps you were always one from the very beginning.", Norway said softly as he picked up a stray stick to stir up the fire with it before feeding the wood to the ever hungry flames.

Gilbert stared back at him in the half lidded expression of contempt that cats can only seem to manage and flicked his tail in annoyance. With one sentence alone, Norway had pretty much summed up why the Prussian had never felt the need to associate with the Nord.

"What a crock of scheiße." Gilbert snorted. He found himself wishing that cats had lips so that he could properly sneer at the other nation.

"Nevertheless, it is an answer. Whether you view it for what it is or what it might become is really none of my concern.", Norway shrugged with barely a movement of his shoulders. It was significant gesture considering the Nordic had not emoted much, as in at all, since the Prussian had arrived. Gilbert shook his head, thinking about Denmark and his continual complaint that he couldn't ever find Norway whenever he wanted to. Gilbert was starting to find that hard to believe now. Either the Dane was too stupid to look in the last place he saw Norway or Norway had mastered the art of looking like a rock. He certainly had all the qualities of one.

"Can you help me out and tell me where I am or do you want to be a little more vague?", Gilbert tried to focus on something he could physically manage and not some esoteric concept that made little parts of his brain hurt.

"You are….between…", Norway paused, putting great thought into his next words, "Yes…..that is the best way to describe it or at least in a way that you will understand."

Vague and esoteric it was then. Gilbert wondered to himself if he should have really expected anything less from the mysterious Nord. "Gee thanks. You are loads of help. No wonder Denmark is bat shit crazy. With answers like that, anyone would be.", Gilbert grumbled, lying down close to the fire so that he could comfortably rest his head on his front paws but without singeing his fur.

"I can tell you why you are here.", Norway offered in a neutral tone, one that suggested that he didn't really care if the Prussian showed any interest or not.

"Amaze me then. Blow my fucking mind. Why am I here?", Gilbert grumped. At least he was warm for once, even if the company left a lot to be desired.

"You are seeking help.", Norway said simply as he drew his cloak closer about his small frame.

Gilbert turned his head to look at the Nord head on. "Are you offering?", the Prussian asked in a guarded manner, not expecting much from the other. It was a surprising revelation to begin with considering the Nordics tended to keep their opinions to themselves and well out of other nation's affairs. Even Denmark who was the most sociable of the bunch, only revealed his true self to few and far between, keeping his inner most thoughts his own.

"No.", Norway said bluntly, confirming earlier impressions and killing feelings of faint hope all in one tiny word.

"Figures.", Gilbert sighed, feeling resigned. What was he expecting really? No one had anything to gain and everything to lose by helping him. "Can't or won't?", he asked anyway just for the sake of curiosity.

"Won't.", Norway answered in his normal brusque manner, enough so that it made even Gilbert wince and he had been expecting that kind of answer. Norway was nothing if not brutally honest. Just as Gilbert began to let gloom settle upon his shoulders again like a yoke, the Nord added, "But I can send you to someone who might.".

Gilbert made himself sit up to consider Norway for a moment. From what he knew, the Nordic did not make false offers and always kept his word when he actually decided to give it, which was rare as finding diamonds in snow. All things considered though, Gilbert didn't have a whole lot to lose even if Norway was lying to him.

"Tell me who.", Gilbert ordered, sitting up straight as he glare up at the Nord to demand his answer.

"There is a price.", Norway told him in cool tones.

Rolling his eyes, Gilbert barely kept himself from clawing the earth in irritation. "There always is, isn't there.", Gilbert growled out tiredly, "What's yours? Got to warn you, I am a little short on ….well…..everything."

Norway didn't bat an eye though. "I will take this state of being from you as payment.", he told the Prussian, gesturing to his feline form, "If I take it though, you will never be able to make use of it again.".

"So what? I won't be a cat anymore?", Gilbert turned the offer over in his mouth and mind, "I don't get it. Why would you want to do that?". Norway stared back at Gilbert silently, for long enough that the Prussian knew that he was not going to get an answer from the Nord and that he would just have to decide if it was worth it or not on his own.

"Ja, whatever. Take it.", Gilbert shrugged. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by doing this even if it was just a dream. At the very least, it was something untouched that was his and he could do whatever he wanted to with it.

He watched intently as Norway leaned closer to him, passing his long slender hands over the length of Gilbert's body from head to tip of tail. Gilbert arched his back into the touch reflectively, purring loudly when his ears were scratched in a very pleasant manner. Gilbert ended up closing his eyes from the sheer bliss of the attention.

When he opened his eyes again, Gilbert fell back awkwardly onto his bare ass into the snow which he found was quite cold without fur. A quick check confirmed that he was in a more human shape again, five meters intact and all there, though shrinking due to the chilly climate and general lack of clothing. Looking up, Gilbert saw that Norway now held in his arms a large white cat with burning scarlet eyes that glared down at him, the tom's face marked with scars and what was left of his ears ragged from past fights. Gilbert tried not to preen back too obviously that he had made such an awesome, bad ass looking cat.

"Pay up Norge. You got what you wanted, you creepy fuck.", Gilbert said restlessly as he stood up shakily on weak legs. The more he looked at the cat now, the more he realized that a part of himself was off and uneasy about the whole deal. Nodding, Norway shifted the cat to his shoulders so that he could rummage in the depths of his cloak. After a moment, he presented Gilbert with a cut flower. Feeling slightly gypped, Gilbert accepted the long stemmed rose to look at it curiously. It was a lovely example of the species with stalk and leaves of spiky evergreen and the petals a plush shade of crimson so dark in places it looked almost black. Dew clung to its velvet head like a crown of diamonds, making it look like the rose was weeping jewels.

"Take this and follow the elk. Wherever he ends up leading you, give the rose to the one it belongs to. He has been wanting it back for some time now.", Norway instructed in his normal monotone, the nation already turning to leave. Without any farewell or look back, the darkness that brooded in the wood swept in to claim him and his newly acquired cat. The nation was taken so swiftly that Gilbert was left blinking in surprise to find himself alone with a dying fire and an elk that was starting to wander off without him.

"Hey wait up!", Gilbert snapped, running off after his guide who took him deeper and deeper into the wood. It was where shadows grew without the help of night and where even moonlight hid from things that moved within the real darkness.

It consumed Gilbert without him even noticing until it was too late.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gilbert woke up. It was always cold. It was always there. He was always here to be greeted by nothing but emptiness and the sound of his own flesh shattered. He had shifted in his sleep and now his feet were without toes again.

For a moment, Gilbert considered eating them. It would still the sharp tension in his stomach, starvation swelling his belly with a hurt that was just dull and sullen now. Gilbert closed his eyes again, giving up on the thought. If he started to eat himself now, where would he stop?

"Should have been better than this. Please…I'll be strong.", Gilbert promised though he didn't know to who anymore.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
When Gilbert opened his eyes again, the green that met his blurred vision was almost blinding in its abruptness and vivid hue. Feeling about him and glad to discover he had actual hand to do it with, Gilbert found himself lying in soft fragrant grass, colored purple here and there with patches of heather. Gilbert sat up to look upon a meadow of sorts, the gentle slopes of it falling off abruptly to jagged cliffs of white chalk. The meadow he sat in was one of the many floating pillars of land, the suspended masses covered in thick trappings of clinging moss and hanging ivy. Gilbert realized as he stood up that his rock was part of a spray of islands lost in a sea of swirling mist. While fluffy white clouds tumbled and tossed like a sea beneath, dim gray skies overhead sprinkled bouts of rain, so soft and fine it merely made Gilbert feel damp instead of all out wet. The Prussian was happy to notice that not only was he completely human shaped, he was also wearing clothes though they were odd looking and something Gilbert was sure he had never worn before.

The jacket he had to admit to himself he liked. It was lightweight with horns worked into the hood of it. It also had a bright white skull decal depicted on the front. The shirt he wore underneath it was ragged though, striped black and white. He wore blue denim pants over black boots and seemed to have acquired a rather large pitchfork with another skull design worked into the base of it. Further study of his new clothing revealed a tail in the back, cunningly attached to the base of the jacket. For all intents and purposes, it would appear that he was supposed to be some sort of devil…..Which was fitting in a way considering what happened next.

"Bleeding hell, what are you doing here?", came an irritated voice from high above him. "And why are you dressed like a right prat?".

Gilbert looked up to see an especially odd sight of an angel floating overhead and making minimal use of its fluffy wings, the feathered appendages barely making a flutter as the angelic being descended. The oddest thing about entire situation though was that the angel looked a lot like England wearing a rather short toga made of shining linen. Golden sandals and bracers glinted off of the nation's ankles and wrists. A halo also shone at a crooked angle, hovering over his messy head of spiky blonde hair. England was pointing a star tipped wand at Gilbert and was trying to appear threatening with the silly implement which paled in comparison next to Gilbert's own body length pitchfork.

"Kesesesese! What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?", Gilbert laughed, pointing back his own weapon at the angelic figure. It felt good to be back in control again with something sharp and deadly in hand even if it was only dream.

"Britannia Angel, you ignorant twit.", England snapped, not impressed in the slightest by Gilbert's pitchfork, though he did tug down at the hem of his short revealing garment, "Now, I will only repeat this once for your benefit. What are you doing here? Be quick about it before I decide to do something horrible to you.".

"Like what? Snuggle me to death? Kesesese!", Gilbert shot back snickering.

England gave the albino a flat look in return, making an elegant gesture with his wand. Gilbert watched in interest as a tiny neighboring island shook itself apart before crumbing into dust, the remnants disappearing into the seas of mist a little too quickly for Gilbert's liking.

"There is no bottom. You would fall forever in the endless dark without even so much as the light of stars to keep you company.", England said in an icy cool voice that disturbed Gilbert's calm on so many different levels. He realized he had better come up with an answer fast and it had better be a damn good one. People and even nations tended to forget that even though angels were protectors and healers of the devote and the innocent, they were also the executioners of sleeping first born and the harbingers of doom.

"Oh scheiße…..", Gilbert muttered. First rule of anything was to never let them know that you were scared so Gilbert made a casual show of checking his many pocket for a pack of smokes and hopefully a lighter to go with the absent, 'where the hell was it when he needed it' habit. His hand froze when it brushed up against the thorny stem of rose Norway had given him, the Nord's words floating back into his cognizance. Gilbert pulled the flower out carefully, having already cut his hand open on its razor sharp thorns. Its petals seemed none to worse for wear thought, having been jammed inside his jacket for an indefinite period of time.

"Here.", Gilbert said simply, tossing the rose up to the angel who forget about his threats and even his modesty in an effort to catch it. The rose now in hand, England floated down to earth staring into the heart of the crimson flower, its plush velvety petals like drops of blood against the alabaster of his heaven touched skin.

"A precious gift…..one that I thought I would never see again…..", England whispered in reverent tones, his fingers lingering over face of the rose, dew clinging to the tips of his hands like tears, "But it is one that I can not accept I'm afraid. I know who sent you here now and what you want. I fear I am of no help to you either.". England stared at the rose with a haunted look of regret even as he offered it back to the Prussian, his hands shaking slightly from it. Gilbert made no move to take it from England though. His own hands were too busy making fists, ones that curled up in frustration at his sides.

"Can't or won't?", Gilbert spat out, feeling suddenly beyond tired, so much so it felt bone deep to him.

"Can't. Your lot saw to that. I lost my empire thanks to you and yours.", England glared but the expression was more weary than heated. Loss of power and time took the acid out of it the Prussian devil wagered.

"I lost a lot more than that.", Gilbert reminded, his voice eerily calm with the ease of grinning skulls. "At least you still exist."

England's glare held for only a moment more before falling into a saddened expression. "Yes…yes, you did Prussia. The King is dead and all that rot.", the angel sighed with a heavy breathe the smelled lightly of sweet black tea, rain on turned earth, and funeral flowers, "I am sorry but I can barely help myself. Now take the rose and go before I change my mind.". England offered up the flower again with all the willingness of child about to be parted with a cherished toy. Gilbert ignored the other nation entirely to sit down on the ground in wave of despair.

"So that's it. I'm fucked.", Gilbert resisted the urge to bite his own tongue just for the relief of pain and the taste of blood. "This is really the end. The end of…me."

"I-I…..thought it would be better than this…..", Gilbert lamented to no one in particular, "I thought I would at least die on my feet even if it was in the mud and the shit and the blood of mortal men….not like this…..in a frozen room in the dark to be forgotten. I'm too awesome for that. I deserve better, damn it.". The grass between his fingers felt cool and soft all at the same time and so utterly real that it made Gilbert almost want to weep from the simple sensation alone.

The Britannia Angel musings interrupted Gilbert's bitterness. "No…", England murmured thoughtfully, "Not quite yet. You just have to find the right one to aid you in your endeavor, someone with the means to do so, the power to back it all up, and the will to see it through to the end.". Gilbert watched as the angel reached up to pluck something out of nothing, a soft glow emitting from the palm of his free hand. The other was too busy gripping the rose tightly in hand along with his wand with a possessiveness that was blatant.

"Take this and may it bring you all that you need and wish to find in your quest.", England said, his tone strangely kind as he offered the shining object to the Prussian. Gilbert accepted the gift warily from angel, the glow forming itself into the shape of a five pointed star that lay flat in the palm of his hand.

"What do you want for it?", Gilbert asked, his tone cautious as he studied the glittering celestial object in hand. It was warm and pulsed as if with a heartbeat against his skin, alive and vibrant.

"Not a thing. You have already more than paid for it.", England admitted, his fingers tightening around the bladed stem of the flower. Gilbert noticed that its thorns did not pierce the angel's skin like it had done his. If anything the cut rose seemed to actually flourish, its leaves and stem starting to wrap itself around England's forearm to became part of the nation's flesh, showing new growth as it merged with England. It made Gilbert wonder what Norway had actually managed to take away from England and for how long.

"That being said….. ", England murmured as he waved his wand and rose in a swirling motion that caused a strange animal to pop into existence. Gilbert stared doubtfully at the flying bunny that, for whatever reason, happened to be a peculiar shade of mint green and beamed good will and all kinds of cute fluffiness at him. Gilbert was even willing to bet that the damn thing talked, knowing England and his penchant for the magically weird.

"Follow my familiar…" were the last words Gilbert could remember England saying before he woke up.

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Gilbert hated waking up. It was like dying all over again. He didn't know why he bothered anymore when all he wanted to do was sleep forever and be lost in dreams until his body decided to finally give up and properly die.

Though the human measurements of it were useless to him now, time was all Gilbert had in this place, besides the darkness. He often wondered why he was still here. In his long life, Gilbert had seen nations die before so he knew that it could happen. It made him wonder why the hell he still existed in this space, made to suffer over and over again with no reprieve in sight.

It was true he had done appalling things but all nations had. It was what they did. It was what they were made for, to kill, to lead, to do terrible deeds in time of war and even worse ones in time of peace. As a knight, he had had a code of honor about it though and had abided to it even when being a knight had fallen out of fashion. He had never been intentionally cruel unlike some others nations. He had shown mercy to some and kindness to others when he had not needed to. Did that not merit any good will toward him?

All he had left to himself were his dreams which were being more and more vivid. Gilbert wondered it that was a signal that his end was near.

"I'll pay any cost. Save me from being confused.", Gilbert prayed to the gods and the angels, if any were bothering to listen to him.

"Show me what I'm looking for."


	5. Chapter 5

APH PruCan Timeless 4 Part 2

In your house  
I long to be  
room by room  
patiently  
I'll wait for you there  
like a stone  
I'll wait for you there

Alone

-Audioslave 'Like A Stone'

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Once upon a time somewhere in Russia very near the end of Cold War in 1988...  
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Gilbert groaned as he sat up, this time making sure to look down at himself before bothering to take in his surrounding. After being a cat and a devil, he thought it was prudent move on his part. His body was defiantly feeling weird to him, all squishy in some places and bony in others.

The curvature of full breasts tried to pop out of a thin, low cut gown as they perkily presented themselves to the Prussian's inquiring gaze. Gilbert poked at his new expansive chest to watch the twin mounds jiggle. Gilbert cupped his boobs experimentally, squishing them his hands before remembering that he probably shouldn't do that. Playing it safe, Gilbert decided he should move on to view the rest of the damage. That and he could always come back to check out his new boobs later. He(?) ran his fingers through his hair which was so long now it fell well past his butt. Currently it pooled all about him in long thick locks and was bright shades of sterling silver, a shade or two lighter than what it had previously been. A quick feel of his face told Gilbert that it was significantly more defined and delicate in nature. His chin definitely felt more pointed and it also felt like he had a large scar that ran across his right cheek now. Lastly, Gilbert considered the sleeveless and nearly sheer dress of snowy white material he had on and apparently nothing else, his bare ass resting on warmed earth.

"Scheiße.", Gilbert said dryly. The Prussian ended up startling himself by the change in his voice, his normally deep, rough accent made mellow in more dulcet and obviously feminine tones. A sudden thought occurred to Gilbert then, the nation steeling himself as he took the leap and lifted the hem of his dress to take a peek at his nether regions.

"Ja…..definitely female.", Gilbert grumbled as his expression turned dark, letting the gown fall back into place. Looking around for some sort of distraction after discovering the theft of his family jewels, Gilbert found himself to be sitting in a field. It was one that lay all around him in an endless land sea, the rise and fall of ripened golden wheat rippling in a wind that swept across the great expanse. The cloudless sky overhead was just as eternal, the cloudless blue of it mirroring the gold green of the land in wedded infinity.

It made Gilbert feel quite small and insignificant. It was not a feeling that he liked. He had felt it all too often these last few years.

Curling up in a sitting position where his head could rest comfortably on his knees, Gilbert focused on the more tangible things around him. The crushed wheat he sat upon, the way it scratched and poked at his sensitive skin, the sun that warmed his body through and through, the smell of the grain baking in the heat and the new, sweeter scents that wafted off of his changed body. Gilbert also noticed the star sitting not too far from his side, its glow lessened by the direct sunlight upon it.

Picking it up, Gilbert made himself stand to get his bearings and made a full circle turn to look about him. He noticed irritability that the gesture made his dress swirl out and away in a graceful movement. Gilbert only confirmed the perpetuity of the sky touched earth again all around him. Nothing else was in sight, not even a farmhouse or a road. Just a field of wheat, warm and full of rich life but so empty it was a void. A nothingness made by light, sky, and grain. Gilbert shivered in the warm light that beat down upon his bare skin, the bareness of his environment beginning to scare him. It was too still, the motionlessness of the air only broken by the sounds of wind moving through the wheat, making the chaff rub together in a dry shuffling murmur.

It was unsettling.

Like a world getting ready to consume him for just existing within it.

"Whatcha got there?", a perky voice asked curiously right next to Gilbert's ear. It made the Prussian jump like a scalded cat, a shrill shriek escaping his lips. Gilbert whirled around to find a girl standing right beside him where no one had been before. She was tall with shoulder length blonde hair the color of sun warmed honey. It had a stubborn cowlick in the front that stood out from the rest, the lock of defiant hair bobbing in time to the blonde's movements as she laughed in delight at Gilbert's reaction.

When she finally opened her eyes to brushed tears of amusement out of the corner of them, Gilbert could see that the orbs were the color of the endless sky above them. Her tanned skin was the same shade of the wheat that rustled all around them, brushing their sides as the wind picked up. The girl wore cut off jeans to show off a lot of her long legs, and a sun faded flannel shirt tied up and knotted tight to expose her muscular midriff and perky breasts. Worn, cracked cowboy boots were worn on her feet and an endless smile was on her lips. It was that expression that reminded the Prussian of someone.

"America?", Gilbert hazed a guess, trusting his gut.

"Duh. Who else would it be?", the nation grinned, reaching for the star with or without the Prussian's permission on the matter, "That's pretty. Is that for me?".

"Ja. I guess so.", Gilbert shrugged, handing it over. It just seemed easier that way. America took the star into her hands, cupping them around it protectively as she looked at the celestial with a loving expression. America blew on the star began to glow with bright new life. She did this until the star took off from her hand and flew up into the sky like a comet, leaving a trail of glittering dust in its wake. The two nations watched it go with mixed emotions, America elated and Gilbert saddened though he could not explain the reason for the feeling.

"Why are you a girl? For that matter, why am I?', Gilbert sighed as they watched the trail of stardust fade from sight. Something had to be said to bring them back down to earth so the Prussian felt it might as well be that question.

"Haven't you ever heard of Lady Liberty?", America flashed a pearly grin along with her question as she struck an odd pose with one hand on her hip while the other pointed straight up toward the sky. "That's me, silly! You really should know that since you came looking for me.".

"I came looking for…..you? That's what the star was for?", Gilbert groaned, "Mein Gott, I am so fucked.".

"Boo. That's not nice.", America pouted, dropping the pose so that she could properly poke her bottom lip at the Prussian. "I'm the land of freedom. Isn't that what you want?". Gilbert resisted the urge to pinch that sulky bottom lip off the other nation's face.

"Ja.", Gilbert sighed, sitting back down again among the wheat. The baked in warmth coming off of the crushed grain felt almost surreal as it seeped into his skin. "I don't see how you can help. Why would you? Didn't you play a part in my dissolution?".

"Psssh. Who remembers stuff like that?", America shrugged while trying not to look too guilty about it. She might have had a teeny weeny say in the matter but it was totally Gilbert's fault for making out with Canada in front of the American. Did he really expect America to let that kind of shit slide?

"Are you really trying to tell me to ignore the little things in life like my stasis as a nation being taken away?", Gilbert said incredulously as he glared crimson at the other nation.

"Details.", America nodded, waving off such trivial concepts, minor or otherwise. "Do you want my help or not?"

She had the Prussian there, who was too short on allies to be picky. "Ja.", Gilbert sighed in defeat.

Rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots, America dropped her sulk for a more considering sort of look. "I was built on a vision of equality and a wealth of possibilities you know.", America stated thoughtfully as she looked upward to study the cloudless sky.

"Yeah, well. That still doesn't answer my question of why we have boobs now.", Gilbert grumbled, picking up stalks of broken wheat to throw their full heads at other nation.

America rolled her eyes expansively, dodging the grain missiles easily enough without even looking before her expression grew rather serious, a rare thing to ever see with the usually upbeat nation . "It's because I am the Mother of Exiles, dumb ass.", America intoned, "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp! Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door!".

"Moving, but how does that help me?", Gilbert said in a flat tone, showing off just how unimpressed he was by pretty speeches..

"I can give you freedom.", America said simply, splaying her hand out, fingers wide in a gesture Gilbert could not fathom.

"You make it sound so easy.", Gilbert huffed, dismissing the nation's words and empty meanings.

"It's not really. Nothing's free, but it is a chance and lot of time that's all anyone really needs. I am where someone can say 'I have a dream' and people will listen to them.", America said in a grave voice. Gilbert looked up into eyes that held a galaxy within their swirling depths of captured blue and starlight. It was achingly beautiful to stare into America's eyes and yet chilling in their utter chaos.

"So you'll help me?", Gilbert asked hesitantly, wondering if it that was the color of madness or something far worse in that shattering hue of azure that was America's eyes.

"Yup! Willing and able to!", America smiled, the expression with all the warmth and charm of a naked blade in hand. She saluted Gilbert, the gesture crisp and too well practiced. America was not just a farmer anymore.

"Awesome.", Gilbert said with care, not letting the thrill of anticipation make him lose his grip on his harsh reality, "How do you plan to do that though?".

"Easy peasy! I'm going to change the world.", America's smile took on some warmth finally as she rocked back and forth on her heels in barely contained excitement.

Gilbert stared up at the grinning nation, grateful that he had not lost all of himself to the too warm and fleeting embrace of optimism. "That's impossible.", Gilbert scoffed.

"No, isn't not.", America laughed, the sound bright and all too loud to Gilbert's ears, "Big ole world out there is changing all the time, darlin. You just got to know when to hop on it and make it work for you.".

"I can't give you anything.", Gilbert bit the inside of his lip. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

"You already gave me your star. That's payment enough. ", America laughed, "I can give you something in return though."

"Like what?", Gilbert asked, the rest of his question cut off by a sudden wind that blew across the field, parting it like a scythe as it carried something tumbling on its back. America reached up into its quick path to pluck the item out of the wind, handing it over to the Prussian. It was a scarlet leaf with five prongs that looked like it came from a tree of some kind.

"What is it?", Gilbert twirled the leaf between his fingers, wondering what it signified. Gilbert startled when he looked over at America. Her expression was just that tender and lovely, almost heartbreaking in its beauty. She wasn't called America the Beautiful without reason. If he did not love another so dearly, Gilbert admitted to himself he could have fallen in love with her probably like so many other fools had before.

America leaned forward then, her full lips brushing against the shell of a pale ear. Even like that being this close to one another, Gilbert could barely hear her whisper. He strained his hearing to grasp the one word spoken with such loving reverence by the American.

"Hope."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

For a moment upon waking, Gilbert thought he was well and truly dead. He was surrounded by softness that cradled every part of his sore body as effortlessly as a cloud would. And he was warm! Deliciously warm from the tips of his re-grown toes to the top of his head which was feeling light and dizzy from the sensation. So of course, he had to go and open his eyes, ruining the illusion completely for himself.

"Oh scheiße, I'm still alive.", Gilbert groaned, opening his eyes more fully to rub natural sleep from them, instead of the bladed ice of his own frozen tears. It was his other room in Russia's house, the one he rarely got to make use of. It was a lavish space that was decorated all in shades of red damask and patterned velvet with furniture accents of black lacquered wood. Russia had told Gilbert once that he had made this room especially for him because the Russian liked how Gilbert's pale skin contrasted with the accented neutrals.

Sitting up Gilbert wondered who had rescued him this time. His naked skin was clean beneath the sheets and the worst of his burns made by the extreme cold were wrapped up in clean linen, smelling strongly of antiseptic. It looks like Lithuania's handiwork, all neatly done and organized, the brunette a real expert at binding wounds now. Gilbert reflected that Lithuania has had more than his fair share of practice.

Reminded of his companion in this shared hell of theirs, Gilbert noted that the Lithuanian was absent from his bedside. For whatever reason, the brunette nation would usually stay at Gilbert's side until the albino opened his eyes. The Prussian was never sure of the thought process behind this reasoning on the other's part but it was nice to see at least one friendly face from time to time so Gilbert never asked why. The next face Gilbert did see was one he could have done without as Ivan entered the room, not bothering to knock as always. His house, his rules.

"Oh good. You are avake. That is most convenient and some excellent timing on your part, comrade.", Russia smiled, his head tilting to side slightly as he stared down at the Prussian. Gilbert resisted the childish urge to hide under the sheets, instead choosing to glare back. He bit his tongue to kill the words that poisoned the back of his throat hotly. Reading between the lines, Gilbert knows that Russia was implying that by already being awake, Gilbert was saving Russia the trouble of beating him back into consciousness. Apparently, the Russian had a task for Gilbert.

Taking the Prussian's silence as acquiescence, Russia busied himself by unlocking a metal chest that lay at the foot of Gilbert's bed, the large nation the only one with the key to it. Gilbert found himself momentarily blinded as his old blue grey uniform was flung into his face.

"Get dressed and quickly. We have guest vith us today. Isn't that nice? You need to be on your best behavior, da.", Russia told Gilbert in his normal carefree tone which could really mean anything. Horrible things had been done to other people and nations in light of that tone usually involving the accompanying drips of blood and ending requiem of suffering. . "Ve will be drinking vodka, so do not keep us vaiting long, Банни.".

Gritting his back teeth at the Russian's choice of nicknames for him, Gilbert pulled his old and now quite ragged uniform over his equally ruined form. At some point in time in the last three decades, Russia had somehow gotten it stuck into his crazed head that Gilbert liked being called a bunny. Or else it just amused him. There was really no telling with that one.

Despite its insulting ridiculousness, it was useful in gauging the Russian's moods. He tended to only use it when he was happy about something and that usually meant that someone else had to suffer for that happiness.

In this case and what he was making Gilbert do, the Prussian was betting that his brother was here for a visit. Russia enjoyed nothing better than making Gilbert paraded around in his old World War II regalia and humiliate him by waiting on other nations who had once cared for or befriended the Prussian. Ludwig came around every once and while just to make sure that Gilbert was still alive. Russia would never allow the Prussian to go with him to World Meeting like he did the other nations in his house so Ludwig would show up every few years on 'official business' at the Russian's house, insisting on speaking with the large nation. Unable to resist taunting the German, Gilbert would be made to attend and serve the two of them drink and food. If Russia got any enjoyment from this practice, Ludwig and Gilbert made sure it was very little. The brothers acted like strangers to one another, Ludwig not even flinching at the times Gilbert was beaten right in front of him, the Russian growing impatient or bored with their tactics. At the end of these visits, Gilbert felt like that they had always won over the Russian though, no matter what his resulting punishment was afterward. Gilbert got to see that his younger brother was still vital and strong despite the war and being divided by a wall, and Ludwig received visual confirmation that his older brother was still alive and that his spirit remained unbroken.

Stumbling toward the kitchen on sore, barely healed feet, Gilbert could not help but notice how quiet it was in this place. Russia's house was huge but with five other nations living within its walls, it was never this silent. Or ever this dirty…..

Gilbert noted a film of gray dust covering normally spotless shelves and antiques, and un-swept floors, the colorful tiles of them covered in dirt. Soiled clothing were strewed about here and there seemingly at random as if their wearer simply grew bored with their existence, choosing to shed in the middle of hallways and other inappropriate rooms for denuding. Most of them looked like Russia's clothing which was startling in a way. It made Gilbert wonder if Lithuania had been murdered or was just incapacitated, the brunette in charge of most household duties and the laundry. It would explain why Gilbert hadn't seen him when he had woken up. It did not explain the absence of the others though.

Estonia and Latvia were more noticeably missing as Gilbert entered the kitchen to retrieve the vodka for Russia and his guest. The remaining members of the Trembling Trio could usually be found in the kitchen, it being one of the warmest rooms in the house. It was not unusual for Ukraine and Belarus to not be in the house. Unlike the rest, Russia's sisters were not prisoners here so they came and went as they pleased, though it was obvious Russia would have preferred that Belarus never came back at all.

The kitchen area was in as much disarray as the rest of the house, Gilbert noted with even more growing surprise. Empty bottles of vodka took up every available space on the counters to overflow and try to take over the more open area of the floor, Gilbert almost tripping over the wayward glass.

After some rummaging through most of the cupboards, Gilbert managed to unearthed a buried bottle of vodka, overlooked due to its hiding place in a far dark corner. Gilbert was certain that was Latvia's doing, the small nation a notorious drunk even being able to out-drink Russia on a good night. Kicking the bottles aside and not caring if they shattered or not, Gilbert rounded out his task by finding an antique silver serving tray and two reasonably clean glasses of cut crystal to present the vodka in.

Gilbert made his way slowly to the drawing room where Russia liked to receive his visitors. It was also the room with the biggest fireplace, a small mercy for any visiting nation. With the few exceptions of the Nordics, most countries suffered from the gripping chill when they came to the Russian's lands.

Squaring his shoulders, Gilbert readied himself to begin playing the game. Knocking to signal his entry, Gilbert kept his eyes face forward with his head held high as he entered the room, ignoring how he limped in as the Prussian fought to keep the tray steady. This was how he and Ludwig always played it out, the rules of their game unspoken but thoroughly understood by both brothers. Gilbert would be the very model of polite professionalism, speaking when only addressed and deftly being of service. Ludwig in turn would barely even acknowledge Gilbert's presence in the room, treating his brother as he would any other faceless servant. It was a system that worked well for them, and was perfected each and every time they had to do this delicate dance.

After serving Russia his vodka and mentally wishing that he would choke on it, Gilbert turned to the other nation to hand off the remaining glass. It was only by pure iron will born through centuries of fighting and struggle that Gilbert did not drop the crystal or crush it into dust.

Canada….Matthew sat upon the other couch opposite of Russia, dressed in a shade of red that made his skin glow like alabaster and his hair shine like spun gold. His long legs were casually crossed at the ankles while his pale hands rested his lap, the Canadian the very picture of relaxation. Kumajirou sat beside him, the tiny polar bear staring up at the Prussian with its dark eyes as it chewed on Russia's couch.

Gilbert suddenly found it very hard to breathe, his body frozen in mid action in front of the two nations with his arm still outstretched toward the Canadian in offering. All Gilbert could think about was how he looked to Matthew. The blue grey uniform hung off of his too lean body all over, like flaps of rotted skin, the material threadbare and faded. The only thing in good condition was the black and silver iron cross that hung from his neck and that was only because he was never allowed to wear it except on occasions like this. His thin lips were a shredded mess having cracked open over and over from the cold so that even when they healed they still felt rough. His white skin was still recovering from burns made by the frozen floor and walls of his cell. What wasn't blistered and red from healing was now course from lack of care, making his once smooth skin scar silver and gravelly in places. His hair was more white than sterling now, the ends of it frayed short near his skull with damage and breakage. Starvation pressed his skin too close to his bones and outlined the structure of his tendons and veins.

Gilbert had made the mistake of looking into a mirror over a decade ago. He had repeated that error since.

Out of all else though, Gilbert considered that his hands were probably the worst of it. The fingers of them had been broken off too many times from frostbite. They were skeletal with only a thin layer of skin that was pulled too tightly over their framework and barely padded with nerves. The ends of them too pointed and curled now to be considered normal looking, the skin around the knuckles especially gnarled and warped.

A soft touch brought Gilbert back to reality, his eyes opening painfully wide as the glass being gently removed from the Prussian's grasp by Matthew. His soft, perfect hands lingering over Gilbert's own ruined ones before they separated but not for long. With a gentleness that was staggering to the Prussian by its presence alone, instead of drawing away in disgust, Matthew reach over to cup Gilbert's wan cheek so that his scarlet eyes could meet twilight shaded ones. Gilbert stared up in a daze at the taller nation, a small part of him wondering when Matthew had exceeded him in height and why he hadn't noticed it last time. Considering he hadn't even noticed Matthew standing up in the first place, him missing a little detail such as height difference was understandable.

Lost in the tanzanite color of Matthew's eyes, Gilbert realized that someone was talking to him, the voice trying to reach him sounding all murky and lost to the Prussian's moment of inner turmoil and emotional confusion. It could have been Matthew or Russia or both for all he knew. Why for the love of Fritz was Matthew here? Why of all nations did it have to be him!? What was he doing here in this place, this house of sorrow?

Of all the things to happen and of all the nations to break him, it would have be Matthew here to witness his final fall. Gilbert had made his brother's visits a game, had ignored France's looks of horror the one time that he had come to visit, and had even matched China's expressions of difference with his own. It was unfair really, now that he thought about it. He deserved so much better, damn it.

"I was knight once. Did you know that?", Gilbert heard himself mumble. It took him a moment to realize that he was not standing anymore and that he was now being held tightly in Matthew's arm. Gilbert wondered briefly if he had fallen or fainted but in the end couldn't make himself remember or care. All that was let in his world was the heat of Matthew's skin and the sound of his heart.

And then a miracle happened and heaven's gates opened up before Gilbert. "I'm not here to drink with you Ivan. I am here to take Gilbert home.", the Prussian heard Matthew say. Gilbert sighed, nuzzling closer to the heat, not caring if he looked weak. Even if he did, this was probably another one of his stupid dreams anyway. At least England wasn't here dressed up as a slutty angel in this one. Maybe if he was really lucky he would die in this dream and just never wake up again. Breathing his last breathe in Matthew's arms didn't sound so bad to Gilbert.

"I think not, comrade.", Russia chuckled, gesturing to the quietly confused nation that Matthew held. "Prussia. He is mine to do with what I wish, da."

"You are absolutely right.", Matthew conceded but made no move to let the other go, much to the Russian's annoyance.

"I am so happy that you agree…", Russia smiled wide to find his next words cut off short as the Canadian continued as if uninterrupted.

"But Prussia is dead. He died in your lands a long time ago.", Matthew amended, "I am here for East Germany to whom you have no claim of and no right to. I am here to take him back home to his lands and his people. ." Gilbert startled in Matthew's grip, the albino finding the strength and will to raise his head. Matthew was a new god of this age made of marble, gold, and amethyst. This brave, new land stared down the ancient that sat before him, quietly fierce and as noble and righteous as any saint for his cause. Gilbert tried to think if he had ever seen anything more beautiful in his long life, his memory coming up short.

"That vill not happen.", Ivan grumbled, his tone dark and foreboding as he rose to his feet. He was ignored by the Canadian who motioned to the polar bear, his animal companion growing larger as he climbed down off of the couch. Kumajirou went to stand on all fours beside his master, fully grown. Gilbert became quite aware of this as he was placed over the polar bear's broad back and shoulders and was not in any danger of falling off due to lack of space.

"You can't stop it. Not anymore. It's over Ivan. You've lost.", Matthew said calmly as he made Gilbert sit up. From his angle, it barely gave Gilbert enough time to warn Matthew as Russia loomed forward, his beloved blood encrusted pipe on one hand and the other open palmed to strike Matthew in the chest in the space right over his heart. Gilbert had seen the Russian use this attack before.

When used on humans, it killed instantly. On nations, it would crippled them if only temporarily. Having one's heart frozen within their chest can be a hampering experience. Russia could drive his winter gift through the skin, causing the tissue and meat that he came in contact with to shatter like glass.

Though he could have dodged it, much to Gilbert's shock and Russia's grin of victory, Matthew let the blow hit him full on. Russia's smile soon lost its footing on the Russian's broad face when he realized that Matthew was still standing and looking completely calm about it. The frost that formed over his chest simply melted and fell away, leaving the Canadian unharmed and appearing mildly amused.

"B-But. America always….." Russia found himself stammering, his pipe forgotten in hand as it fell from shocked numbed fingers. The metal clanged loudly as it hit the floor. None of the nations noticed though.

"I'm not America. I am Canada, the Great White North.", Matthew corrected, reaching out to pet Kumajirou's sides. The polar bear was starting to growl at the Russian. "I was made for that sort of thing.".

Nodding to his host turned statue, Matthew started to walk toward the door with Gilbert at his side riding Kumajirou the best he could.

"Don't go….." was whispered. The trio paused at the door to look back at Russia. He stood by himself in the empty room with only a dying fire for company, his large house echoing all around them.

"….I will be lonely.", Russia called to them softly, the arms at his side lifting up as if asking for a hug or for them to rejoin his company. Matthew opened his mouth to speak but Gilbert recovered his voice first.

"Good. There is the perfect room under the house for that."

And with that, Canada who was known as Matthew and Gilbert who now knew he was East Germany left Russia's company.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The nice thing about repetitive tasks was that they were usually quite simple and allowed the person performing them to think while their body continued to work on automatic. Tasks like digging hole. Digging a hole was wonderfully uncomplicated. Or other physical labor, such as slamming a sledgehammer into high concrete wall.

Jarring to the bones? Yes.

Hell on the ears? Very.

Wonderfully satisfying to watch as chips of stone flew into the air and ever greater slabs of building material slid away? Oh hell, yes.

Gilbert watched as his corded muscles contracted and flexed as the sledgehammer made contact with the Berlin Wall over and over again along with so many others. The people of East Germany, his people, used anything and everything to tear down the hateful and hated barrier that divided them from their other half.

Though Gilbert didn't remember most the journey home being mostly unconscious from relief and exhaustion, Matthew had made good on his word and delivered the former Prussian made German back to his people and land.

And they were truly his people and land.

It was all just shifted around within the new boundaries of what was now Germany, his younger brother sharing many of Prussia's old borders and even making his old capital his heart. Berlin now beat for both Ludwig and Gilbert. Now all that was left to do was to tear down the wall that lay between them.

It was the beginning of a new decade and the very last one of a millennia What better way to celebrate it than with freedom Gilbert thought, even if it did make that shit head America right. The snot nosed kid of a nation had actually done what he had promised to do, first by thinking up that loophole and secondly by sending his winter bred twin to carry it out. He then went above and beyond, poking at various parts of his political engine to spark a change.

"We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate. Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate. Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"

Gilbert used his reborn strength as a nation to break apart steel piping and concrete like it was drywall, the will of his people behind his every strike. Cracks in the wall became gaps, tools from the other side poking through in flashes of metal. They were replaced by hands momentarily as people touched frantically and were touched back through the holes in the wall, excitement and impatience growing on either side . A new fervor rose as voices from both groups of demolitionist heard one another, people calling and crying to each other.

The head of his hammer came down at a high arch shattering the weakened barrier, with a crumbled of mortar like thunder and the tearing of steel flashing like lightening. It fell away and only became wider as people from both sides surged though before the dust could even begin to have a chance to settle. Gilbert let them, swinging his tool over his shoulder as a tall blonde made his way through the tides of humanity, his own tools of destruction in hand. They were both filthy with sweat and dirt, Ludwig's head especially in disarray from Gilbird making a constant nest of it. The chick abandoned his temporary home immediately though to reclaim his rightful spot atop silver locks.

"Hallo West."

"Hallo East."

Gilbert gave his younger brother a wicked grin before tossing his tool aside. He embraced Ludwig tightly, the larger German returning the gesture with equal if not greater force.

"Welcome home."


	6. Chapter 6

APH PruCan Timeless 5 Part 1

Well I'm so above you  
And it's fine to see  
But I came to love you anyway  
So you tore my heart out  
And I don't mind bleeding  
Any old time to keep me waiting  
Waiting, waiting

-The Black Keys 'Lonely Boy'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Once upon a time, in present day at Spain's house on any ordinary summer night…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Being the other half of Germany wasn't so bad, Gilbert mused to himself as he studied the sticky remnants of pulp that stuck to the sides of his wine glass. The sangria that Antonio was serving to his friends this evening was too sweet and too fruity for Gilbert's tastes with not enough of an alcohol content to make it worth drinking in the first place. He wasn't hosting their get-together this time though so his opinion meant fuck all.

The lost in thought albino was sitting out on the Spaniard's porch and taking up most of hammock which of course was the most comfortable seat there, already invaded and claimed with one of his legs hanging off of the side to make it swing. Francis and Antonio were beside him not too far away. Francis was making use of an 'ancient but too comfortable to throw out' wicker chair, the nation sitting sideways in it to bodily curl around his own glass of sweet red wine. Antonio was on his back, laying on the ground at the French nation's feet. Francis had offered to share his seat with the Spaniard but Antonio had declined, stating that he preferred the view from there. The Spaniard explained, rather lucidly which was impressive considering his intoxicated state, it was so that he could watch the day retire slowly from a comfortable position. Antonio told the other two nations of the lady of light, who was garbed in her evening gown of rainbow colors, bowing out to allow night to sweep in to take her place, and of the dark lady all aglitter in her midnight velvet studded with celestial diamonds. Gilbert reflected with a bemused snort that wine always made Antonia wax oddly poetic.

The Prussian turned German's thoughts meandered hazily back to their original forefront thought which waited patiently for him there. Ja, existing as East Germany was not so bad. It just wasn't as awesome as being Prussia but then again, nothing ever would. At very least, he still had the whole of his history as a reminder to the world what the definition of 'awesome' had been and his own extensive dairies to revisit if he ever got bored. Gilbert reasoned his life was good.

Since his return, Gilbert lived with his brother in Ludwig's neat, half timbered house just outside of Berlin, the two story home squat and painted white with a thatched roof. It had a little garden out back thanks to Feliciano's need for fresh herbs and more than enough room for the four large dogs and the nations that lived within it. Gilbert chose to live in the basement, converting it into one large open space for himself. Ludwig thought it was an odd choice but had not argued with him.

Gilbert found it soothing. He had learned many important thing by being left in the earth with only the dark as company. A wise nation did not forget the lessons he learned so hard won and at such a high cost. It was Gilbert's way of remembering.

As East Germany, Gilbert found he didn't have to do much anything if he didn't want to. Most days, he updated his blog, walked the dogs, napped with Gilbird in his sinfully soft memory foam bed, and drank Ludwig's beer. He had no meetings to attend to, no paperwork to move, and wore no suits unless leather pants, steel toed boots, torn jeans and black t-shirts that said rude, clever phrases upon them were now considered formal wear.

Ludwig took care of all those mundane aspects. Part of it was due to the German being a control freak but mostly it was because he wanted to give Gilbert time. Time to learn how to be himself again. (Though occasionally, Gilbert would take over for his brother when Ludwig went on vacation or Feliciano stayed over for an extended period of time. The Italian had a knack for wearing out the German much to Gilbert's amusement, especially when his brother came down for breakfast blushing a color Gilbert had deemed West Red and tried to hide his limp.)

Most times, much like a night such as this one, Gilbert would just hang out with Francis and Antonio. In these days of the new millennia, Francis was constantly on strike and Antonio's own government had pretty much given up on him after the world wars. Left to their own devices, both former empires frittered away their days as farmers, only going to World Meetings to socialize and to keep apprised in all the latest gossip.

Each to their own aside, Gilbert chose not to go to World Meetings at all for his own personal reasons, much to his brother's relief, Russia being the main reason for his avoidance. He had needed years of healing after the time he spent under the Russian's 'tender' care. It would be too difficult for Gilbert not to resist the temptation for some form of payback, more geared toward the bloody kind rather than a more harmless prank.

Time may heal all wounds but it did little in way of the reminders. Even after two decades plus, Gilbert still hadn't put back on much weight. He didn't eat as often as he should either, preferring to drink his calories. Gilbert would often have to reassure his worried brother of this as the Prussian waved off offers of food. Gilbert didn't want to explain to Ludwig that food had lost its appeal to him a long time ago. When pressed, he told Ludwig he had no idea why and it just had and to stop being such nag about it. Gilbert never felt bad for telling his brother those kind of lies, because Ludwig being Ludwig, the German felt responsible for what had happened to him. Sometimes the truth would hurt a lot more than a few pretty lies. Gilbert was more that willing to spare his brother that hurt. He was strong enough for it.

Other physical markings never faded out completely either. Over time, the silvery burn scarring made by extremely cold surfaces eventually faded away but the ones made by knives stayed, long thin marks that striped his arms and torso. The one that encircled his ankle all the way around from where it had snapped off from frostbite was another all too bitter reminder of his time in frozen over hell. The slight limp he now had from it was just insult on top of old injury. Gilbert learned to disguise the lisp in his step by strutting into any room or situation slowly as if he were still a conqueror, an invader of nations.

His hands were an additional source of discomfort. The damage around the knuckles from his fingers being removed had faded after a decade and smoothed out, but rest of the skin had remained off to the touch. It remained warped rough in some place and too smooth in others. His fingers never fully straightened either, curling in a bit. If he did not keep them filed back, his fingernails curved like talons- thin, sharp, and hooked. Black leather gloves became a permanent fixture in Gilbert's wardrobe, the albino rarely seen without them even when he preferred to be by himself.

Not surprisingly, Gilbert still had nightmares and even worse night terrors, though the episodes were becoming fewer and far between. Some of them were based in reality like him having to eat his fingers and toes to stave off a hunger that would never be fulfilled while other were just twisted imaginings. The latter was usually of him running through a world of endless white, a blizzard that was all around and above him to which there was no escape except in waking.

Minor silver lining that it was, cold no longer bothered Gilbert as much after his stay in Russia. He only wore a light jacket in winter now and even that had to pressed upon him for Ludwig's own comfort level.

Though he did not attend meetings, Gilbert was hardly a recluse. He saw Roderich quite often, the pianist choosing to live in the German's house much to Ludwig's confused chagrin. Gilbert thought he took it rather well all things considering. Probably because the German was so used to other freeloading nations now. Feliciano was one more semi permanent addition to his household.

It pleased Gilbert to see his brother and the Italian back together. Ludwig was less without Feliciano and vice versa. The auburn headed nation of pasta had come back to the German but only after Ludwig had turned up one day on the Italian's doorstop in Venice on his hands and knees to beg Feliciano for his forgiveness. Gilbert knew this because Romano had taken pictures of it and had even gone so far as to send out framed copies of the German's humiliation to every nation he knew and quite a few he didn't. (Thailand was still very confused about the whole thing but was much too polite to bring it up with anyone. Since it had been a gift though, the picture in question was tentatively hung up in one of his hallways. Japan had noticed it while visiting his place once but thought it was too amusing to take down so he left the subject matter alone).

Being all together like this was different and refreshingly new, nations usually spending their time apart. Gilbert found to his surprise that it was strange but quite nice as well. He could spend an afternoon listening to Roderich play on the piano, help Feliciano make dinner(i.e. watch Feliciano make their dinner while Gilbert drank beer in the kitchen), or take long walks with Ludwig and the dogs. In this space of shared time, the brothers would simply enjoy a moment of comfortable silence between them or talk quietly about trivial things.

If he grew bored with his home life, Gilbert would travel. He found that he was quite comfortable in Kiku's house. He loved to surprise the ancient Asian nation with his unannounced visit but was never turned away by the other. Kiku seemed to enjoy his company back and was just as astonished about it as everyone else was. Gilbert loved to attend the summer festivals of Kiku's lands so much so that he had his own selection of yukatas, fans, and geta to choose from. Because it pleased him to do so, Gilbert often wore a disguise to these festivals. His favorite kabuki mask was always that of a fox spirit, partially because he truly adored the sly expression painted on it but mostly because it seemed to embarrass the hell out of Kiku for some reason.

In time, Alfred became another good friend by way of the Asian, the three nations tied together by their love of gaming at all hours of their times zones. Plus it was fun for Gilbert to rediscover the American, having known the young nation since he was a teenage hick farmer. Getting to know the modern bad ass, tech savvy version of the nation was an interesting experience. The two of them would wander off into Alfred's South to find some backwoods in the middle of nowhere, and entertain themselves by shooting the hell out of some abandoned cars Alfred had left there for that specific purpose. The finale of the nation's excursion included blowing them up after the two nations were done turning the vehicles into metal Swiss cheese.

Add some of Alfred's moonshine(which he still brewed for himself, his own laws be damned) and Mathias to that volatile mix and the trio had themselves a real party. Alfred was adventurous to the point of stupidity, Mathias didn't hold back in any aspects of life, and Gilbert never knew when to quit even when the odds were clearly not in his favor. Together the three got in and out of trouble with the ease of slicked eels that could even rival the antics of the BFT.

With the feminist movement, Elizabeta became interesting again. Exchanging her broom and apron for a paintball gun and some body armor, the two of them would go hunting like in the old days but with a new twist. When the mood struck her, Elizabeta would storm into Ludwig's house, kick Gilbert out of bed, and basically kidnap the albino to get her fix for paint violence. They lived for pwning noobs in painful rainbow color, the two nations skillful enough to take on entire teams by themselves.

In a strange turn of events, Arthur became a drinking buddy and a surprisingly good one at that. Gilbert generally had to jump the other nation at the start of any given evening, tossing aside his embroidery or tea or whatever boring ass old lady hobby the Brit dedicated himself to so that the pair could go pub crawling together. Arthur would grumble and complain in the beginning of it until he got a few drinks in his system. After to what equated to a bucket of scotch and enough cider to bathe in, the English nation would be good to go, taking Gilbert to the 'member's only' pubs of London that served strange liqueurs that made parts of the Prussian's brain twist and sparkle, and where the evening entrainment ran more toward the weirdly taboo than the norm. Nice thing about Arthur that Gilbert found out was that he could be as morose as he wanted to be and the English nation would let him. That and Arthur's memory was shot to hell by the end of the night so the odds of him repeating anything much less remembering it in its entirety was low. Mathias could and would be added into this mix with spectacular results, most of which usually ended up with the three of them in bed naked or in costume. Playing 'what the hell did we do last night?' had never been more fun.

Rahul was another interesting friend of Gilbert's, the albino's partner in crime for one of America's Halloween parties. With the Indian nation's help, the pair of them had stolen the show, going all Bollywood on everyone as Gilbert and Rahul came with awesome blazing wearing slick fedoras and suits. They hadn't won the costume contest, but damn, they had made an entrance that the other nations were still talking about. After their debut, Gilbert became a common presence in Rahul's house, the albino developing a taste for curry and odd dance music. Gilbert even starred in a few of the Indian's weird but colorful movies, mostly as a villain.

Gilbert even had a strange relationship with Heracles. While in the vicinity of the sleepy nation and his feline entourage, Gilbert had discovered his phobia of cats, a bizarre fear he had never had before. Whenever the two would encounter each other, Gilbert would find himself clinging onto the Greek as if for dear life until Heracles carried him away from his cats. Gilbert never explained or apologized for it but Heracles didn't really ever seem to mind or care too much about it. Only Norway knew the why behind this new fear and he wasn't telling anyone.

With all this and more, Gilbert felt like that his life should have been complete, and felt a little more whole than it actual did. The problem that needled his brain was that it inexplicable wasn't and didn't. Gilbert could feel that he was missing something, something vital, something obvious, something that lived on the tip of his tongue and out of the corner of his eyes.

He just wished he knew what the hell it was.  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It wasn't until one warm summer day in late June that he discovered it from the most unlikely of sources.

"Zo…are you going?".

"Wha?". Gilbert asked blurrily, pulled out of his inner musings to try and focus on the nation who was asking for impossible amounts of attention from him.

"Really Gilbo? You are that drunk already? La, you were just complaining not just a half an hour ago about how weak ze wine was.", Francis chuckled, a smug little grin starting to play itself out on his lips as he took a sip from his own glass. Gilbert arched a slim silver brow at the French nation when Francis ended up sloshing more wine down the front of his shirt than actually drinking it.

"That's alcohol abuse. Kesesese.", Gilbert whipped, snickering at his own bad joke.

"Ta gueule, debile, and answer my question.", Francis said crossly, gesturing expansively to show how unimpressed he was with the albino's wit. He ended up dumping a good portion of his drink onto Antonio's face, effectively waking up the dozing Spaniard.

"What are we talking about?", Antonio yawned, licking wine off of his lips, unperturbed by its presence.

"Mon Dieu! You two are useless! Why do I even bother!?", Francis lamented, flopping back in his seat to look as desolate as possible.

"You could try talking to us when we are less drunk.", Gilbert pointed out, being the voice of reason much to his own surprise.

"Stop making sense. I am ze brains around here.", Francis sniffed, his body language shifting from dejected to haughty in an instant.

"I thought you were the looks, amigo.", Antonio reminded as he poured himself another glass while still wearing most of Francis's.

"Toni, I think you have had enough, mon ami. You are just spilling it on yourself now.", Francis sighed, leaning over to show the Spaniard the error of his ways. He succeeding in drenching them both with more wine.

"I've got to find a better class of friends.", Gilbert muttered as he watched Francis fall slowly out of his chair and onto Antonio in his efforts to clean them both off. Now situated more comfortably on the ground, Francis went to great efforts with his tongue in cleaning Antonio off as he licked clinging droplets of sweetness off of tanned skin. The Spaniard returned the favor in full, kissing away staining purple liquid from paler skin to leave behind a different kind of mark of his own.

"Your clothes appeared to be ruined, Toni. Let me help you out of them, mon ami. Perhaps we can save them, oui?", Francis purred, having worked his way up to Antonio's lips to swipe at them with his tongue.

"How kind of you.", Antonio murmured as Francis began to strip him of his shirt, his hands lingering over firm corded muscles and sun worshipping skin.

Gilbert rolled his eyes as he swung himself up and over the edge of hammock with practiced ease though he swayed woozily during the dismount. He left the pair to their teasing whispers and carnal play, the albino not feeling up to a threesome in any sense of the word. Gilbert found that he wasn't even interested in watched the impending fireworks. Romano was due home at any moment.

"What the hell is wrong with me?", Gilbert sighed, running gloved fingers through his hair along the sides of his head out of old habit as to not disturb the ever-present roosting chick on top of it. Gilbird stirred restlessly though despite the careful treatment, feeling his friend's tension, the little bird cheeping sleepily down at him. Reaching up, Gilbert petted his chick as he murmured reassurances. Ludwig could go on about the loyalties from his canines all he wanted to. Gilbert knew there was no better devotion than from that of a chick.

"What the fuck are you doing here, pale ass potato bastard?!"

Gilbert amused to himself that Romano always had a talent for entering a room as he turned to face the glaring Italian. "Just leaving, twerp.", Gilbert snarked back, not really annoyed by the other or his insults. Romano reminded him of a hedgehog. Those tiny pincushions were cute even when they rolled up in spiny balls and Gilbert was just the stick of irritation to make the Italian hedgehog do just that. "Toni's out back with Francis if you were looking for him."

The Italian instantly turned a shade of red that could only be labeled as 'angry'. "Chigi! Just fucking fantastic! Now that dumb bastard will be even more useless than usual. He was supposed to help me pick out a present for America, not drink himself stupid…..well, stupider.", Romano griped, his brow twitching in irritation.

"What's going on?", Gilbert slurred, his curiosity piqued at the mention of America and present in the same sentence. He could see why Romano wanted help. Seriously, what do you get the nation that has everything?

Dropping his anger for open disgust, Romano stared incredulously back at him. "Are you seriously that fucking stupid? I mean I knew you potato bastards were dumb, but Gesù Cristo.", Romano snorted, rolling his eyes at Gilbert, "It's only America's birthday next week. The fat fuck only throws the biggest party of the summer every year for it. What rock have you been hiding under, dumb ass?".

"I was too busy being awesome to be bothered with that scheiße.", Gilbert shrugged with a sneeze, growing bored again even light of the new information. Alfred's parties were always a little too bright, a little too loud(and not in the good way), and a little too weird in Gilbert's opinion. The events tended to have foul mouthed aliens, over friendly whales, and drunk naked England at them. That and the food set out was always in Day-Glo colors. Gilbert liked cake as much as the next nation but he didn't think it should ever glow in the dark or be neon green. Admittedly, most of it didn't taste bad, just off. Alfred liked to take recipes from other countries and do weird, unnatural things to them. The loud blonde claimed he was putting his own twist on them. Everyone else claimed that Arthur was ultimately to blame for this travesty against the culinary arts, the proof being was that Alfred still ate the English nation's food. Even more damning and worse, he liked it.

Gilbert suppressed a shiver of revulsion at that particular thought before returning to his original judgment on the matter at hand. He had gone to quite of few of Alfred's parties but they were tame compared to some of the revelries turned shit shows that had been thrown back in his hey-day. Like that one time at Francis's place in the late 1500's…

"Oh Scheiße, Canada.", Gilbert whispered, feeling like he had just been hit in the head with a brick as the albino sobered up considerably.

"Chigi? What about him?", Romano spat out confused. They had been talking about America, not the guy that looked like him.

"What about Canada's birthday?", Gilbert asked. The Canadian was the American's twin after all. Nation's birthdays were not set to normal human standards considering the nations themselves or history were the ones that chose the date for them. With any luck, the NA brothers would be like the Vargas brothers and share a birthday.

"Who gives a shit.", Romano said flatly, not even bothering to make his sentence a question.

"Nein. When is it?", Gilbert snapped in agitation, beginning to lose his patience now that he found the south part of Italy not so amusing.

"How the hell should I know?! Google it, you dumb bastard." Romano helpfully offered his advice as he nervously waved the former Prussian off to go look for Antonio.

"I think I'll just go do that." Gilbert grinned as he let himself out of Antonio's house to the sound of screaming and much cursing in three different languages. There was even some begging thrown into the mix to keep it interesting.

Gilbert shook his head, losing interest as his mind burned like it hadn't in years, all his thought focused on only one nation now. The name on the tip of his tongue had finally resolved itself and all that Gilbert could see was visions of Canada.

It was not like he had totally forgotten about Matthew though. It was just…..A lot of things had happened is all.

After Matthew had returned him to Ludwig and their combined lands, Gilbert had had a long healing process afterward. It had taken him months just to stop jumping at his own shadow and learn to be in the presence of other nations without flinching. He had been a train wreck for a couple of years, and if he was being honest with himself, Gilbert couldn't see the appeal of being with a nation like him.

In direct comparison, Matthew was a powerful nation, quietly so, not a babysitter. Gilbert couldn't see the Canadian wanting to make time for him during his healing process or even now for that matter. He wasn't even a whole nation but just a half of one. Matthew was the second largest country on the face of planet and a solid member of the G8. If he held that same sort of status, Gilbert knew he wouldn't waste his time on someone like him, a scarred up, crippled has been of a nation. What did he really have to offer?

These doubts had come up whenever the thoughts of Matthew did so Gilbert shoved them all down into the back of his mind to deal with later. Later turned into years and years turned into almost two decades without him addressing the problem.

In the safety of his basement, Gilbert found himself googling Canada. He was startled to find out that Matthew's birthday was less than a week away, the date of it just a few days before Alfred's own. That was what Francis had probably been talking about. Going to Canada's birthday party or something. Gilbert couldn't remember ever seeing an invitation for it though. Alfred's own came to mind immediately. There were probably small life forms on the other side of the universe that knew about Alfred's party. The American was anything but subtle, his dancing and singing invitations were proof enough of that. Gilbert had never seen a card emit a light show before or be that noisy. Ludwig had ended up taken a hammer to the damn thing after it went off for the tenth time in a row and scared the hell out of Feliciano. (Though it still made Gilbert laugh whenever he thought about it, the sight of Feliciano waving a white flag at the obnoxiously cheerful star singing at him, the petite Italian panicking because he didn't know how to turn it off).

Sighing, Gilbert moped in bed. When that didn't fix anything, he moped around the basement. When no change for him occurred then either, Gilbert went upstairs to mope around the house. In doing so, he drew the ire of a certain nation.

"For the love of Adagio, what is your problem? Your sighing is ruining my music. There is no room for sighing in Mozart. Vivaldi perhaps but never Mozart.", Roderich admonished as he slammed his fingers down on the keys, yelling at the sulky albino who was glooming on the settee beside the piano.

"Why don't you play some Chopin about it then.", Gilbert grumbled. Gilbird fluffed up in warning at Roderich, the chick torn between cheeping down at Gilbert or defending his friend from the Austrian. The bird was plucked off of a silver head to be held in hand so that Gilbert could rub his cheek against Gilbird's soft feathers, the gesture calming them both.

"I might but you would ruin that as well with your unaired laments.", Roderich sniffed dryly as he observed the chick love. In his opinion, Gilbert only got this way when he was being particularly stupid about something. "What is wrong? Has Ludwig finally come to his senses and is evicting you from that sty of a basement?".

"If West was kicking anyone out, it would be you, mooch. Seriously what are you even doing here? You have a house. I know you do. I've invaded it.", Gilbert shot back, "And, it's not any of your business but for your information, I keep my room very clean thank you very much."

"I find that hard to believe coming from someone who can not be bothered to throw out his empty beer bottles when he is in the kitchen no less than three feet away from a bin", Roderich snorted, his fingers picking out a mocking tune from the piano. "Stop being a pathetic dummkopf. The Teutonic Knight that I knew would have already dealt with his problems, not mope around like a little girl denied her ribbons.". Roderich graced Gilbert with a sneer before he turned his full attention back to his piano with an elegant flip of his hair curls.

Gilbert was left blinking in disbelief as his mind turned the Austrian's words over his head space. When had he gotten so pathetic? Down deep underneath, he was still Prussia, the embodiment of awesome and everything that would ever be awesome.

"Heilige Scheiße! You're right!", Gilbert gaped openly at the now smug pianist. Getting over his surprising revelation, Gilbert jumped up off the settee to put hell to leather toward front door, his cell already in hand to call up a jet. He doubled back to deposit Gilbird upon Roderich's head.

"Take care of Gilbird! He get airsick on planes!", Gilbert shouted over his shoulder as he ran out of the room. Roderich looked up at the chick and Gilbird looked down over dark bangs at the Austrian as the two made a silent truce with one another.

"Of course, I am right.", Roderich nodded empirically to the chick on his head and resumed playing.


	7. Chapter 7

APH PruCan Timeless 5 Part 2

Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting  
Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting  
I'm a lonely boy  
I'm a lonely boy  
Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting

-The Black Keys 'Lonely Boy'  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag!"

Matthew leaned heavily in his doorway, looking a cross between half asleep and half dead as he blinked blurry, blood shot eyes of hot pain at his unexpected visitor and the early morning light.

"Eh?", was all Matthew's mouth and mind could handle at the moment. Until just a minute ago, he had been enjoying the cool comfort of his heavily curtained living room and his couch cushions, using a fluffy Kujujuju(or whatever the hell his name was)as a pillow. Being awake meant that not only did Matthew have to be upright, but he also had to be hungover with an obnoxious polar bear cub trying to gnaw his ankles off for moving them both.

"Oh sorry. Happy Birthday! I know I'm early but I wanted to get here before the rush.", Gilbert said quickly, brushing past Matthew. He was buzzing from an adrenalin rush and a good amount of liquid courage he had procured from many tiny bottles while on the long plane ride over the ocean. Matthew's house had been surprisingly easy to find.

A much too long phone call full of questioning with Francis had gotten Gilbert an address and him finding out that the Canadian was partial to one of his homes in Quebec, found in a small village just outside of Montreal. Matthew lived in a large house unique in its structure having been built around and up the biggest Maple tree that Gilbert had ever seen in his existence, making the second, third, and even fourth story of it part tree house. Covered spiral staircases that curved elegantly around the tree's trunk connected the different floating sections of the house to the ground floor of it.

"Early for what, besides the A.M.?", Matthew yawned, instantly regretting the action as his head put in its complaints for the day along with the rest of Canadian's body. Matthew cringed as he swallowed gingerly because that even hurt, re-tasting acidic sourness and everything else that he had drank last night.

"The party.", Gilbert clarified, looking around curiously at his surroundings. The inside of Matthew's home was just as nice as it was outside. The floors were made of a creamy stone, worn smooth with age and wear from constant footsteps. Most everything else from the interior to the furniture was made of a pale golden wood, polished so smooth and glossy that the grain of the wood sparkled in the light. Accents of color were made by throw cushions in shades of scarlet and the more natural earthen tones of animal furs. Gilbert recognized the soft pelts of fox, bear, and deer but many others alluded him.

Matthew took a moment to study the albino exploring his living room before checking the outside of his home just in case he had missing something vital. "Are you at the right house?", Matthew asked finally, at a total loss as he picked up Kumajiou, shoving him under one arm to keep the cub from tripping him. Rubbing his face with his free hand, Matthew groaned into it, coming to a realization. "The party is always at Alfred's house. You are way too early for it though. If you want, I can give you lift as soon as I start feeling human again."

"Your birthday party is at Alfred's house? Why?", Gilbert asked confused. That question cut through the Canadian's haze, finally waking him up fully.

"You came for my birthday?", Matthew blinked in surprise, pointing to himself just to make it clear.

"Ja.", Gilbert nodded, feeling awkward. He wished he had remembered to bring some liquor with him. Or even a present for that matter. Gilbert had just boarded a plane with no real plan in mind other than getting to Matthew's house as quickly as possible.

"Don't you mean Alfred's birthday party?", Matthew struggled to wrap his head around what was happening to him. It was too early in the morning and he was feeling too much like fuckpie for this to be actually happening to him.

"Nein.", Gilbert answered with a shake of his silver head. Matthew was looking as confused as he felt for some reason and Gilbert was beginning to get worried. The Canadian's house certainly didn't look like it was decorated for any future events of celebration that involved cake and presents, and Matthew looked like cold hell warmed over, dressed only in a pair of scarlet boxers and what seemed to be yesterday's t-shirt with a little bit of sick on the front of it. "Rough night?", Gilbert ventured, looking pointed at the other nation with a knowing grin.

Matthew looked down at himself, blushing as he took in his state of undress and lack of cleanliness. "Fucken hell.", Matthew muttered, blushing as he made use of the bear in his arms, shifting Kumajirou upward to hide the worst of the stains. "You could say that. Who told you I was having a party?".

"Francis said something about it. Was it invite only?', Gilbert shifted uncomfortably. He started to pat down his pockets to locate his cigarettes, uneasiness gnawing at his guts like a parasite. If he couldn't kill it with alcohol, nicotine would have to do.

Matthew made a mental note to call Francis and have a very long chat with his former father nation as he waved away the albino's nervous question. "He was probably talking aboot Alfred.", Matthew sighed, "Thank you for coming. It was very kind of you to do so but I have never thrown a birthday party for myself."

"What? Why not?", Gilbert asked in surprise, pausing in his search for his smokes to furrow his brow in question.

"Mostly because I don't think anyone would come.", Matthew laughed weakly, trying to make his words come out as a light joke, "I am not really that popular.". Gilbert stared back at him, still looking at a loss. Even in his pained state of migraine, Matthew realized that the albino had good reason to. Gilbert never went to World Meeting so he had never seen first hand how the other nations ignored him. Now there was a pleasant topic of conversation to expand upon while miserably hungover, Matthew thought wincing.

"Anyway, the whole day is kinda overshadowed by everyone gearing up for Alfred's.", Matthew explained further after another moment of awkward silence between them.

"That's one of the stupidest thing I've ever heard and that means a lot considering I hangout out with Fran and Toni.", Gilbert snapped, feeling very angry with the world at the moment and not knowing how to express that sentiment, "So you don't' celebrate your birthday at all?".

"I didn't say that. I celebrated it quite a lot last night with all my provinces and territories. They are all still recovering from it upstairs.", Matthew sighed, pointing to the upward levels of the house, "I'm sorey, but I really need something to eat. Do you want some pancakes?".

"What's a pancake?", Gilbert gleaned his long memory for the word and came up with nothing.

"Maple….um…..I think you call them Pfannkuchen…..", Matthew guessed, "…or Palatschinken". He was fairly good with languages, French especially. His German was a little weak though after a couple of decades of nonuse.

"You got it right the first time. Palatschinken is Austrian.", Gilbert said with a shrug. "I take mine with extra lemon.".

"Lemon? What are you talking aboot, eh?", Matthew looked affronted as the pair entered the Canadian's kitchen. Gilbert nodded in approval at the decor. He usually didn't like spaces decorated primarily in yellow. The color usually came off as more sickly than appealing to him. Matthew made it work though, softening the obnoxious color so that it appeared buttery and soft to the eye's palette with some interesting accents of white and red for flavor.

"I have no idea anymore. Just make them. I'm not a picky eater.", Gilbert said, bracing himself not to think about his nightmares. He wanted to be able to eat whatever Matthew was serving him. Gilbert took a seat at the kitchen's island, watching as Matthew stumbled around his kitchen. Kumajirou was eventually plopped down on a stool beside the albino, the little bear being more a nuisance than a help in the retrieval of ingredients and items. The cub kept insisting that salmon should go in pancakes. Matthew didn't bother to argue with the animal, the nation too focused on getting the coffeemaker to do his bidding.

Gilbert watched with amusement as the bear climbed onto the island to pitch a sulk about the lack of fish for breakfast, Kumajirou rolled onto his back in the middle of all the pancake preparations to pitch his paws into the air and wiggle about. Matthew groaned like he was dying as he ignored the bear to watch the coffeepot fill.

"I want salmon!", Kumajirou grumped. He nosed as egg off of the counter from his upside down position.

"Naughty animals don't get salmon.", Matthew told the fussy cub as he did a mental 'fuck it', pulling out the coffeepot to put a mug under the brown stream of caffeinated fluid. "And I certainly don't give salmon to naughty bears who waste my eggs or make messes in my kitchen.". Matthew located some aspirin as his coffee cup was filling, dry swallowing the tablets with a grimace.

"And who are you?", Kumajirou snapped his jaws at the nation pouring a lot of maple syrup into his coffee with a dash of cream.

"Someone who might feed you. Emphasis on the word 'might' there", Matthew said, arching brow at the bear who crawled under the island out of sight to sulk. He gave up making faces at Kumajirou as Matthew sighed in the near overwhelming sweet bliss of finally having some coffee in his system. Caffeine addiction fulfillment brought awareness, Matthew noticing his pale guest staring at him and the bear with an amused look in his scarlet eyes.

"Sorey! Can I get you anything to drink?", Matthew spazzed a little bit, fumbling at his engrained manners. He was standing in the middle of his kitchen still only dressed in his underwear and own filth, having a mouth orgasm while being stared at by the most unlikely of visitors. Matthew had not seen or heard from Gilbert since his return to Germany. His sudden reappearance took some getting use to.

To his unspoken relief, Gilbert looked a hell of lot better than the last time Matthew had seen him. His houseguest's form was still slender but it had regained a hardness about made of lean, compact muscles. Gilbert's hair was gleaming silver again with darker sterling undertones and his eyes sparkled like chaos and rubies, full of the wild energy that Matthew always found so appealing. Gilbert's natural paleness was only heightened by the tight black pants(Matthew wasn't sure what they were made up) and tank top that he wore, his skin glowing white from the contrast of it. Silver glinted off from his knee high steel toed boots, the iron cross around his neck, and the studs on his belt. The only other thing that Gilbert wore was a pair of black leather gloves which stuck Matthew as odd considering it was summer. He knew his lands were not the warmest of places but Matthew was having a hot summer this year so the gloves were unnecessary for warmth.

"I'm fine. Do what you got to do. I've been where you are more than a few times in my life.", Gilbert grinned. He was greatly enjoying himself, watching the Canadian move around in his own natural environment. It was obvious that this was a normal morning ritual between himself and his bear. Gilbert did notice Matthew's stare though and wondered if the other nation realized that he actually doing it as tanzanite shaded eyes roamed over his form. Gilbert casually lowered his hands from view under the counter when they became a point of interest. He wasn't willing to go there and didn't want to hear the questions that he knew were coming. "What do you do for your birthday then if you don't throw a party?", Gilbert asked quickly for a diversion.

Matthew blinking himself out of his gaze, blushing slightly as the Canadian realized that he had just zoned out in front of the albino while stared at him. "All my provinces and territories come over the day before and we all hang out while I go on a wicked bender. They cook, I drink. It all works out.", Matthew took a moment to recall the previous day's events and found that he could not. "In the morning, one of them- usually Ontario- wakes me up from wherever I passed out, and I make breakfast, brunch, or whatever a meal is called when its eaten after 1pm. We spend the rest of the day watching bad movies, eating take out, and drinking beer until evening. Then we go down to the lake and watch the fireworks. That's aboot it.". The Canadian shrugged in self defense for no real reason as he finished the rest of his coffee in two gulps.

A silence lingered between them as Matthew started to mix together the pancake ingredients, putting wet to dry in natural, second nature movements. Finished with the batter all too soon for his comfort, Matthew heated up the pan, "Sorey you came all this way here for nothing and wasted your time.", he said softly. It wasn't the most exciting or impressive day of festivity unlike how most other nation's birthdays were spent but Matthew liked it. He took a couple of days off from life around others who loved him(even if they didn't necessarily like him all the time) and would take care of him instead of the other way around. Even Ontario and Quebec made great efforts to get along with one another for two whole days just so that Matthew could enjoy his birthday in peace.

Staring down at the pan and not at the other nation, Matthew hid his face, not knowing what expression he was wearing upon it. He could not understand why Gilbert was sitting in his kitchen or had even bothered to come here in the first place especially when he compared himself to other members of his immediate but assorted family. Matthew knew he wasn't as exciting as Alfred, lacking the intense energy his twin exuded like a supernova. He accepted that he wasn't as glamorous as Francis, his earlier father figure the epitome of everything fashionable and beautiful. Matthew even appreciated that he wasn't as well-spoken as Arthur, his former sovereign nation a master of assorted knowledge and languages, and its applications in conversation.

"It's not nothing.", Gilbert snapped, making Matthew jump at the sharp tone. The Canadian looked over to find himself pinned with a laser like glare of vivid scarlet intensity. For a brief moment, Matthew understood why the former Prussian was so feared. The pale man looked truly frightening when he was angry, his chin resting against his gloved fingers as they created a steeple for him to pass judgment over. "And I am staying." he added after a tense moment. The albino had not raised his voice Matthew realized as he swallowed hard. All the sharpness came from his tone, rough accent, and word inflection. Gilbert was a nation who didn't have to yell when he truly wanted to be heard. He was the type of being one would have to worry about not when he was shouting but when he grew silent. It was the quiet of an eagle's strike, a snake's bite, or a spider's plans.

"T-that's fine. I have plenty of room.", Matthew stammered, finding his voice in the back of his throat after a moment. He wondered if he should feel more threatened but it was hard to manage even that with the fierce sort of joy that was welling up in his chest.

On his part, Gilbert was positive now that Matthew didn't know how gorgeous he truly was. Twilight shaded orbs were crowned by gold lashes. Those rare gems for eyes were set in a pale face of handsome features and surrounded by long locks of wavy hair, the color of pale gold. One curl still defiantly hung away from the rest to float precariously in front of Matthew's face. The Canadian's careless words about himself as made something snap inside of Gilbert as he familiarized himself with Matthew's enticed appearance and quiet demeanor again, a fresh wash of anger removing the apprehension that had lingered over Gilbert since he got here. Like hearing a child's unanswered cry in the dead of night, Gilbert was well and truly pissed.

And it felt good.

"I'm only interested in the one that has your bed in it.", Gilbert said, his voice still low and jagged as shattered glass though this time he put some heat behind his words. He tilted his head to the side, watching Matthew reaction to his blunt come on with interest. The Canadian flushed dark then turned quite pale before settling on red all over again.

"That can be….that can be a possibility.", Matthew said slowly after a moment. He turned away to hide his blush, filling in the gaps of conversation with pancake making. Though Gilbert's announcement had staggered him causing low muscles in his groin to tighten sweetly, if the albino thought that Matthew was going to let himself be screwed in his own kitchen, feeling like death, and with no breakfast in his belly then Gilbert was in for a nasty surprise.

"I would prefer sooner, rather than later. I am a generous man, but not a patient one.", Gilbert licked his thin lips, feeling a hunger of a different sort beginning to grow inside him. How long had been since he had a proper conquest? Antonio and Francis didn't and hadn't counted for centuries.

"Yes…..I remember you telling me that once.", Matthew more to himself than to his guest as he finished cooking off the batter. He let most of the cakes cool on wire racks for his baker's dozen of still sleeping children. "I don't like to assume such things though. Ideas and feelings change.", Matthew said carefully, making up a plate for himself and Gilbert.

"Ja. True, even we do. It takes longer but then we have far more time than the average human to do so.", Gilbert nodded. He watched every movement Matthew made, memorizing every detail about it, from the way he made his gestures neat and clipped to the way his body moved gracefully through the kitchen. Gilbert accepted the plate that was given to him, though he did not recognize the food upon it. It smelled good enough to wet his appetite though. The lemon he had mentioned earlier was absent as was the powered sugar he would have normally used. Gilbert watched as Matthew dosed his stack of pancakes with a good measure of sticky brown syrup and a dab of butter. With a shrug, Gilbert followed his example. Upon further inspection, the syrup was maple and smelled different from anything else that Gilbert had encountered.

The pancakes were fluffy perfections of pure mouth bliss. Try as he might to keep intimidating Matthew into bed with him, Gilbert full attention soon turned to the plate of food in front of him. Gilbert decided that if Nirvana were a food, it would be Canada's pancakes. He couldn't stop himself from moaning with taste bud pleasure every few loaded forkfuls. The experience was over too soon in Gilbert's opinion, the albino getting up to help himself to the rest of the pancakes on the cooling racks for another round of food rapture.

Gilbert noticed Matthew smiling at him as he retook his seat beside him. The expression was as sweet as the maple syrup Gilbert was pouring on his pancakes and in the albino's opinion seen too rarely in his presence. He found himself wanting to do a comparison between the two to find out which tasted better, Matthew's lips or the pancakes.

"Careful, liebling. You may never get me to leave with food like this.", Gilbert half promised, half threatened with a wicked grin. To his immediate disappointment, Matthew's smile retreated, the Canadian biting his bottom lip now.

"Please don't say things you don't mean.", Matthew mumbled as he stood up, walking over to the sink to deposit his plate. He was feeling a lot better physically now that he had some food and coffee in him. It was time to address the rest of his issues. Taking baby steps, Matthew cleaned up the egg Kumajirou had murdered in his fit of bear rage. The bear turned criminal was given a chunk of salmon from the cooler for letting his nation eat in relative peace. Matthew shoved it under the island to hear it being nommed down by hungry bear teeth.

"I never do, at least when I am speaking with you. You have the rare gift for making me honest.", said the last of Matthew's quandaries, the albino setting aside his empty plate to give the Canadian his absolute consideration.

"But why? You hardly even know me.", Matthew asked plainly, looking frustrated and even a little lost, "I can still count on one hand the number of times that you and I have met. And it has been a different atmosphere every time.".

Push and pull. It was as if Gilbert was the moon to his sea, the pale man controlling the tides of his emotions like the force of nature that Gilbert was. Matthew wondered for a moment if like the moon and sea, they were nothing without each other.

"Ja. I am well aware. I was there for all of them. At least no one is wanting to shoot at us this time.", Gilbert making light of it. He would rather not revisit the very last time that they had seen each other.

"Why are you even bothering with me Gilbert?", Matthew sighed, getting down to the heart of the matter. Pull and push, push and pull aside, Matthew was tired of this dance of touch and go that he and Gilbert had been doing for so long.

Gilbert shut his eyes for a brief moment. It was all he could do in light of that sort of question while he tried to control his temper. Gilbert wasn't mad at Matthew per say but at everyone else who had made the Canadian feel like he should ask that sort of question. How could anyone not want to be with Matthew? It blew parts of Gilbert's mind that someone as beautiful, strong, and kind as the Canadian had been overlooked by world at large for so long. "Did you know I wanted to kidnap you the first time that we met?", Gilbert said slowly, looking at Matthew through half lidded eyes.

"What?", Matthew had not been expecting that sort of answer, his memories darting back through the past like quick silver fish.

"Ja, it's true. Kesese.", Gilbert chuckled, remembering a tiny child with eyes wide with fear and his nightgown soaked with widdle. The very same one who had been indignant with Gilbert because the Prussian had dumped a pitcher of water on him, the older nation assuming the child nation didn't know how to bathe, "I left as soon as I put you to bed, riding home through the rest of that storm all the way back to my lands. I about killed my horse doing it."

"For the love of Maple, why?", Matthew shook his head in disbelief and a little embarrassment. Being covered in your own urine was not the most ideal way of meeting other nations. Much like being still dressed in your own vomit sprayed t-shirt. Matthew groaned inwardly as he remembered the condition of his clothing. He motioned Gilbert to follow him as he walked toward his bedroom.

"Because I knew myself then and I know myself now. You should have been mine, not Francis's, not England's.", Gilbert answered honestly, looking around Matthew's room as he located key points of interest like the whereabouts of the bathroom and the tv remote. He did plan on staying here after all. The bed was California king sized with white sheets on it. Gilbert decided those would have to changed out to a much deeper color, perhaps a royal purple or even a deep red. All the furniture was nation's furniture, meaning it looked old, handmade, and sturdy enough to survive most natural disasters. Their kind of people were typically more interesting in things that lasted rather than style. Given enough time eventually anything and everything came back into fashion anyway.

"What would you have done with me?", Matthew asked warily, unsure if he really wanted his question answered. He grabbed the first clean things he could find out of his closet, ducking into the bathroom to change. As much as he liked Gilbert, the older nation looked like he was sizing Matthew up for his next meal, glinting scarlet eyes watching the Canadian's every movement.

"Probably hide you away like some princess in a tower so no one else could find you.", Gilbert admitted as he leaned his back against the bathroom door, enjoying the coolness of the wood against his back. It was only a small barrier between him and Matthew. It could be broken down if it turned out to be too much of a hindrance.

"That doesn't sound very knightly of you.", Matthew snorted in amusement. He was happy to see what he had grabbed blindly from his closet wasn't too bad. Matthew could live with wearing jeans and a t-shirt that Alfred had given him, the front of the white material proudly proclaiming 'Canada, eh?' printed over a red maple leaf.(Alfred was always giving him weird crap. Matthew had returned the favor by giving his twin a t-shirt back with a picture of their country's on it but with America labeled as being as Canada's pants. Alfred still pouted about the unfairness of geography and Matthew continued to not give two shits about it).

"I wasn't always a knight.", Gilbert shrugged, moving away from the door to try out Matthew's bed. Gilbert's own was softer but Matthew's bed was definitely larger, "I was a member of the clergy at one point in time too.".

Matthew's head popped out of the bathroom momentarily at that so he could shoot the former Prussian a look of disbelief. "That's scary. Who's bright idea was that, eh?".

"One of my bosses. What do you want from religious zealots? They loved Jesus, kicking ass, taking names, and claiming vital regions.", Gilbert snuggled with Matthew's pillows, breathing in the Canadian's scent. It was sweet and smelled like the syrup they had put on their pancakes earlier.

"Should I be worried now aboot being kidnapped?", Matthew arched a brow. Gilbert noticed that the Canadian was staring down at him from the side of the bed, looking refreshed having brushed his teeth and shaved. Gilbert wasn't too sure about the t-shirt though.

"It depends. Are you scared?", Gilbert grinned up at his prey, the expression a touch feral around the edges. He reached over to loop a gloved finger through a belt loop on Matthew's jeans, tugging the Canadian down to lay beside him.

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine.", Matthew allowed himself to be pulled forward though he sat up against the headboard instead of lying down which was what Gilbert was really going for. Matthew suppressed a smile as he watched the other nation frown in annoyance at him. Gilbert only allowed himself the setback for a moment, choosing to reposition his body so that he was laying on his back with his head in Matthew's lap.

"Go for it.", Gilbert snorted, feeling high from his mild victory and Matthew's closeness, already preparing his answer. It would be the question Matthew had asked him the last two times before. He was sure of it.

"Why do you wear gloves?" was inquired instead. Gilbert felt suddenly nauseous as his stomach flipped inside of him and threatened to spill all of its contents out. Eyes widening as they locked onto the ceiling, Gilbert covered his mouth with a gloved hand and tried to remember to keep breathing. A light touch on his tense shoulder made the albino's eyes snap open, having not realized that he had even closed them.

"You don't have to answer that. I'm sorey. I shouldn't have asked.", Matthew said quietly, seeking forgiveness as he stroked at locks of spiky silver hair.

"It's fine. You might as well see them now instead of later before this goes any further.", Gilbert bit out harshly, bile still rising up to coat the back of his throat. He swallowed it down hard and held up his gloved hands to Matthew. "Take them off."

Matthew looked ready to argue until he noticed the slight tremor in the appendages being presented to him. Gilbert kept his head turned away so that all Matthew could see was the nation's pained profile nuzzling into the Canadian's stomach, but Gilbert kept his hands up in offering, like a small sacrifice to some pagan god.

As gently as he could, Matthew took Gilbert's hands into his larger own to gently peel back the tight black leather, tugging on the end of each finger one by one to make the removal of them easier, giving the same treatment to the other as well. Gilbert's white skin gleamed icily with sweat, drops of it pooling in the taunt hollows of his throat, but the albino remained still under the Canadian's careful administrations. Matthew slipped the gloves off, letting the leather fall onto the bed and floor so that he could cradle Gilbert's damaged hands within his own. He studied the ruined skin of albino's knuckles, the scarring faded but still silvery. Matthew rubbed his thumbs over them, the gesture making Gilbert shudder.

Gilbert's fingers were still too thin, no where as bad as they had been decades ago in Russia's house but still too thin. Matthew ran gentle touches down their curved lengths from ridge of knuckle to tip of claw like nail, noting the changes in the flesh's texture. Rough in some patches, too smooth in others, his fingerprints murdered in forced healing. Gilbert's life lines remained untouched though, the pads of his hands too hot to Matthew's cooler touch. Matthew touched those lines as well, tracing their paths with his fingertips.

A sharp intake of breathe made Matthew leave off his study, the Canadian looking into wide eyes that stared hotly up at him. Gilbert looked, for lack of a better word, scared though it was far more complex than just that base emotion. Gilbert was like a wounded animal, tense and ready fight or fly if Matthew mishandled him even in the slightest manner.

As he stared into those garnet eyes filled with a hurt that had no real name, Matthew chose his next words very carefully, thinking about what Gilbert actually needed from him and not what Matthew really wanted to say. In this same sort of situation, Alfred would have wanted admiration. His twin had a hero complex, so acknowledgement to his courage and self-sacrifice tended to soothe about any wound on him whether it be physical, mental, or spiritual. If it been Francis, adoration was the answer with the amorous nation. Physical love of skin touching skin in an embrace (or something far more) healed Francis better than any bandage or cure. With Arthur, it was the way of strict politeness by looking the other way and stating extreme understatements. Allowing the English nation to retain his pride did far more good for him than a sympathetic word or gesture no matter how sincerely it was made.

Coming to a decision, Matthew drew Gilbert's hands up by their wrists to his face so that the sides of it could be cupped by them. Garnet eyes silently begging him to stop, the albino struggled to draw his hands away before Matthew could do this, but Gilbert's efforts were thwarted by Matthew's tight grip upon them. Whispering his apologies for being so forceful, Matthew caressed Gilbert's hands with the cool softness of his own skin, breathing in their scent which was slightly sour from sweat and earthy from the leather. As he felt Gilbert relax, Matthew drew them downward to their ultimate destination. "You never struck me as being vain. Arrogant as hell, yes. But never vain.", Matthew mouthed as he pressed kisses into the meat of Gilbert's palms. He peeked down through Gilbert's fingers at the albino's expression, the man's head in his lap still and the look in his eyes akin to awe.

"Why were you so scared?", Matthew murmured, letting his lips and breathe move over the ruined skin, letting to be loved and know that it was beloved.

"Not scared.", Gilbert grunted swallowing hard as he looked away again, hiding his face in Matthew's stomach.

"It's ok to be scared. A very wise person told me that once.", Matthew spoke softly, allowing Gilbert to lower his hands from his face, but not letting them go from the grip of his own. Matthew rested their knotted fingers on Gilbert's chest, above his heart. Matthew could feel the beats of it racing through its wall of bone and flesh. "He also told me it is what you decided to do with that fear is what matters. Something aboot dying with piss on legs or blood on your hands. I don't exactly remember. I was too busy being held up in a thunderstorm by some crazy ghost man and worrying aboot being stuck by lightening."

"I was so awesome.", Matthew could feel the grin being made by Gilbert against his stomach.

"Yes. You should write a book aboot child raising.", Matthew rolled his eyes. Gilbert huffed, looking back up at Matthew with a raised silver brow.

"Hey, it got you to stop crying. You're welcome.", Gilbert said snidely, looking way too proud of himself.

"And develop a fear aboot strange pale men breaking down my bedroom door and waving swords at me. Thank you for that, hoser.", Matthew stuck out his tongue.

"Liar. You did not. Frannie would have kicked my ass or at least tried to if you had.", Gilbert called the Canadian out with a smirk. "What did you tell him about that night?".

"Nothing. It was mine to keep. Like all the other times.", Matthew said after a moment, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Where did you go?", Gilbert asked, his memories asking so many questions of him.

"When?", Matthew stroked Gilbert's fingers with his own in small movements. He was feeling very comfortable and even more so complete with Gilbert beside him, his silver head in Matthew's lap.

"The fight at Lord Eyebrow's dance.", Gilbert reminded, feeling drained to the point of exhaustion but at peace with relief. Matthew hadn't rejected him after seeing one of the ugliest parts of his body. It was as if a full body weight had been lifted from off him so that Gilbert felt light as a bird in flight now.

"Oh that? Some weird Asian nation attacked me.", Matthew answered, not really caring about the past. All he could do was look down at the nation in his lap and think about how fragile and yet how strong Gilbert was, his pale beauty like a glass sword.

"Which one?", Gilbert asked, not really caring about the past either. Their tired dance of comings and goings was finally winding down to an end. Gilbert just wasn't sure how to bow out of it and still leave with Matthew hand in hand with him.

"The one who gropes everyone's chest, claiming their boobs or lack there of.", Matthew said softly, freeing one of his hands so that he could cup Gilbert's face, his thumb running down a sharp jaw line.

"Oh him. That guy is weird…..", Gilbert would have continued but gentle fingers were pressed to his thin lips, asking for a brief silence so that Matthew could speak.

"Gil…..:

"Ja?"

"Shut up. This is our moment."

Matthew leaned over as Gilbert shifted up, the Canadian pulling the older nation further into his lap so that Gilbert's long legs were on either side of him. Matthew's hands came to rest at Gilbert's lean sides, the albino's own circling around the Canadian's neck so that too thin fingers could tangle into long locks of golden hair.

Bodily locked, plush flesh rasped dryly against each other, their kiss almost chaste in nature. That ideal ended with the tilt of heads and the movement of lips, tongues, and teeth, deepening and moistening the kiss to new levels of intimacy. Both of them tasted sweet though Matthew was more minty than syrupy and Gilbert had a lingering hint of smokiness about him. They clung to each other a little too tightly, so that later they would both find fingertip shaped bruises darkly coloring their skin. At one point, they cut their lips on each other's teeth, both nations turning frantic, needing to touch more of one another. Clothing and flesh were torn in their haste to procure this, the pair making little wounds on each other that neither of them felt or cared about. They could only experience a completeness, near divine in nature. A fulfillment of body and soul that they had been missing their entire lives until now as their imperfect halves came together.

Conquering knight and weeping babe.

Lord of his land and Servant to his Sovereign .

Axis and Ally.

Sinner and Saint.

Push and pull.

None of that was of any importance now.

All there was, was this…

A moment.


End file.
